by Christopher Clauss

When the world rages,
build an ark.
Let them mock as they will
and trust that the door will be closed
before the rain falls.

You were prophet
before there were prophesies.
You will not need to remind anyone of this.
It is too late for them now for anything to matter.

Let the dove come back
with an empty beak
as many times as it takes.
Let us look out across these waters
with no expectations.

Let the weary thing
roost overnight.
Reward it for a job done well.
Send it out in the morning
to meet the sunrise.

Seek out dry land
the day the dove returns
with an olive branch.
See for yourself
how the tide has turned.

Remember these tracks
your feet leave in the still-soaked soil.
Let them be the only ones that matter.
Inter the bones of the drowned
while the earth still yields its peace.

See the future you will sculpt
for your children’s children
from the hope of mud
squishing beneath your toes.