For This Moment At Least
It is a storm drain,
rusted and strong.
Below is the dark,
where the water goes after the storm.
So familiar, you rarely even see it,
a dark, safe hole in the ground,
crafted to drain the storms, the overflow,
the too much of inclement weather.
You breathe deeply, aware
of your odd mix of strength and fragility.
Your heart slows.
Your mind slows.
You turn into yourself,
your meditation a drain for a world of overflow,
too much for your broken soul to swallow.
You breathe deeply,
simple and unnoticed, the storm sorts itself,
dissipates,
and for this moment at least,
you are master of weather
until of course,
the next storm.
About this poem
Few people live in the moment as much as I do. I am not sure it’s a good thing, whether it is a survival tactic or a blessing.
The picture was taken in Quincy, MA. Sometimes, I take pictures of the strangest things. Most of them turn into poems.
Tom
Quarry House 
At the time I was in a moving vehicle and without camera, but I have often thought about the sodden, muddy dandelion I saw under the West Seattle bridge and I have it’s picture clearly in my mind. I bring it up in moments when I feel down. I could always have been that life form, ignored, unseen. I have felt that way for much of my life, so I identified with that sad flower. I will not call it a weed. Perhaps a poem in the works, except that I am not a poet!