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Gulf storm


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Gulf storm


for John


of our thirteenth year

Throned on a seawall

on the north end

of Clearwater Beach

Heating air

convects clouds

rising to be sheared

into anvils

Rushing at us

lightning tongues

seeking water's mouth

cold air and horizon obscured

look into its heart, John

The door opens

We fly from our perch

into a maelstrom

fire tongues caress

our cores

nearly rain blasted

As desert sandstone smoothed

Joined and

Washed away

How calm

The violence, loving

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