Florence...

Riding high in a dreary hourglass,
counting the clouds the pull into the sea,
we will raise our hands and bow to the flooding mass
roaring beneath our feet.
But the rest of our mind and aching core
reach inland beyond the shore,
as the ancient rain seeks our ground,
staining light and grazing sound.
Driving down from the steely sky,
we only remember the rain as it falls;
soaking like blood and wringing this life,
stacking its body as the water stalls.
The sky breaks off into pieces-
thick chunks of angry air-
hurling fingers stretching to reach
and scrape us beneath its fingernail.

(But as we wait for a timid light
to escape the breath of the wicked sea,
we find ourselves spread far and wide,
slowly gelling as one body.)