We learn to dread the rain we need 
for it comes now in torrents when it comes at all, 
basements fill and streets fissure 
from the weight and the will of water. 

How deep can it be? Too deep 
say the yellow signs posted to warn us
but who even reads anymore?

The SUV found a mile away in a cornfield 
amid flotsam and autumn stubble, 
intrepid driver still gripping the wheel. 

My own house teeters on a stack of stones, 
I shovel mud and re-make the bulwark, 
knowing I will need to do it again and again 
until I can no longer lift a shovel or this house 
can no longer stand.