by Mike Zielinski
The streams run wild.
It is flood season.
The streams overflow
their banks rearranging
eveything. Nothing is safe.
Houses,cars, mailboxes, and
train tracks, all get moved.
But then I call you at night
And the sound of your voice
Helps the waters recede
And the streams are in
their banks once again
House,cars, and train tracks
Are put back up,
In different places,
Perhaps better places.
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