Hey, you.

Come here and put your arms around me.


Shelter me from the coming storm.

Just until it’s over.


You seem like the kind of person

that can keep me from blowing away.


Afterward, I can pick through the debris

for two mason jars and something strong to drink.


You can search around in the battered books

for a dead author that understood all this.


I’ll find a couple of lawn chairs,

and you light the fallen tree on fire.


Together we’ll laugh at the detritus

that flew too close to our heads,


And be grateful for the sun.

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