Passion is a rising tide
That sweeps through cities of intelligence
Drowning ordered streets
Overturning things loosely placed.
Automobiles knocked askew,
All propriety discarded and disgraced.
There is exuberance and joy
In the wreckage of the ordinary.
An independence declaration evoked by primal force,
A brutality that draws its strength
From lunacy out of our serene satellite
That will not be denied,
An overwhelming force one cannot fight.
Afterwards, when the water has withdrawn,
When the scenes of aftermath display
The broken furniture, the bedding waterlogged,
The stains up on the wall that mark the height
Where once the primal sea visited to reside.
One squats amid the flotsam in despair
And groans at the memory of when two lives collide.