We're talking put up a hand to stop a hurricane futile here, folks. Two days past trying while listening to Hermine's tails lashing at the windows, I reach deep into a well of emptiness for a lost bucket of words filled with dusted dried feelings, the rope frayed to snapping. A thirst to heal will lead me to drill elsewhere, thirsting for the tears commingling with rain, the tears that burst from a stone-crag heart in artesian splendor.