by JD DeHart

Tortoises roam in the sand
while birds spear at the shallows
We saunter on, carrying our gear

until the sky begins
to blacken
My friend tells me in other

parts of the world, they do
not fear the flashes of light
and the roar of thunder
I remember a time when I
saw them

And was not afraid, but
the sway of adulthood, of
temperance, of panic
has found me and I go
too hurriedly toward home.