by Russell Rowland

When a hurricane arrives like an army,
do upper-story birds just hold on tight?
As bellowing voices try to blow
them out of their treetops like autumn leaves,
do wrens just pinch harder to what
they trust and know, with those
tiny pincers not meant for mortal conflict?
Weather comes that will knock you loose
from your convictions. There are storms
wild enough to tear your children’s hands
out of yours. We’ve weathered some.
Never seen such skies, for glowering.
Wind yelled like men mad enough to shoot.
Till Christ came walking over waters
where there was hell to pay, those twelve
in the boat just held on tight.
Maybe it’s what sparrows and juncos do,
maybe it’s about all you can do
once a storm strikes, waves rear up—
hold tight till Jesus comes walking.

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