I guess it is this time of year
when broken things are lashing out—
Shattered bodies, awry they steer
like ships at night, a foundered doubt.

The raging sea, its waves once still,
With ferocity it batters—
A splintered hull, a wooden wheel—
Shapeless truths, the darkened waters.

Against the rocks of weathered rhymes
And salty winds that secrets sigh,
We all must hunch, and ebb, at times;
Our very elements defy.

Abated, now, the seething storm
To which the living owe their path:
When raptures in the fray reform
If God forgives, in God we trust.