one day soon, here
between mountains and what is left
of sky, the pounding rain will
begin to still. the light
refracting from a single drop
will seep
back in, past the ruins of
flood, and then comes the hour to return
to the pieces, to discover what part
of the fence has fallen, return some
mortar to the bridge, notes from
a melody trickling back in, so we can
roll up our sleeves, get on with the task,
sweat to rebuild to the sound of a voice
that has lost its master. 
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