We had rain for every meal
and before we knew it
our lives turned to water.

Streets of water, structures
of buildings flowing and leaking.
Water got into every corner

of the kitchen. Children
forgot how to not swim.
In the water, no one slept

more than a few hours.
Stillness had been supplanted
by the law of least resistance,

meaning: down, down, down.
People began looking to the river
for salvation, and even prayers

to God went up wet
and sounded like gargles.
We asked each other, How

does water survive? And answered,
Always be ready to spill.
Eventually the water ran its course

and we found ourselves leftover
like sand at the bottom of a bucket.
Not knowing what to do

now that we’d dried
back into form, we returned
the floorboards and resettled.