On this tabletop we sit, soaking bodies weighted down.

Overturning back and forth, arm in arm, alone in town.

Rushing water pouring in and spinning round, pounding down.

Inside of this house and out. Turmoil rises up, and gathers all around.

Listen to the hallways hum, and hear the words escape my mouth.

Like a song you sing aloud, speaking of a hiding place where you belong.

Echoing, my old guitar is crying out.

Asking if within the flood we ever will at last be found?