I woke to find the ark gone.
I was wet with rain falling upon me.
Knee deep in puddles soon.
The continually rising water
prompted me to climb the mountain
while foot steps reduced my shivering.
At some altitude the rain
turned into snow
and clung to my hair before melting.
I knew how to make fire.
There were caves with wide mouths
that were dry inside
with small leaves and bracken—
more than enough to act as tinder
for flint and steel.
The water did not swallow everything.
It did not reach the tree line—
but halted at a belt of white stone.
When I saw the carnage
left by the receding waters
I said, Oh, you are not my god.
The heavens rumbled
but no thunderbolt struck anywhere close.
And I thought, Now I am a nation of one.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney