Hour 7, Season of the Flying Fish

Two young boys were lifted high,
twirled and swirled about in dizzying circles in the air,
stripped bare of all clothing,
one later gently settled, unscathed, to the ground,
the other never seen again.

A single straw was driven
straight through the heartwood
of a centuries old tree, unbent and unbroken.

A brick home stood proud and untouched
beside another razed down to a hole
in the ground, a bare ten feet between them.

A school of fish was scooped whole
from the ocean, flown through the air to rain down,
gasping and alive, upon a town, inland and far from their home.

The soil in this land’s richness sustains life all over the globe,
but in a moment entangling air currents
can swirl and twirl in a vortex, snatch, and indiscriminately kill.

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