March was the swelling, the cracking, grey clouds on the horizon ready to swallow
April was the storm that washed us under, held our heads down and told us to count to ten
May is the aftermath, the leftovers, the flood and rain have passed, but what now
What do we do with all the scraps and broken bits
Do we just make fires and wait
Like Noah in his boat
Watching the looming clouds
And counting to ten