inside the fortress

the storm blows in, pregnant air tinged with anticipation, rain.
the night inhales and holds her breath, waiting for the slap of his rage,
his passion, his gift, his absence.
she beckons, thirsty for change, for more than the easy soaksoaked days,
and he comes with fury,
whipping her palmtree hair and rearranging the face of this small town.
she sighs, giving way as her bridges and dykes fall into the rising water,
melting borders,
small voices drowning,
stronger ones remaining.
drenched and disheveled, she watches her world change,
wondering at the silence after it's departure,
letting her breath out in a long cool sigh.
the face of her town looks different, by invitation.
as a small part of her whispers "i'm sorry".
another part of her isn't sorry at all.