Forecast by Bonnie Carasso

I am born of an ancient moon,

a being of water stirred,

pulled by steady, silent tides,

hurling waves and storms

along soft-sanded strands,

carving bluffs and hills

as culverts spill,

cliffs erode.


In this fabricated world

of clouds and higher math

algorithms, binaries, bits,

and data streams,

a water creature

such as I

must find her level,

bide her time

while processors run red

with bloodless commerce.


Soon, I will rise in the light

of a cascading moon. Flooding

creeks and lakes, bursting dams,

I’ll remind this man made world,

as it pleas and flees my torrent,

how powerless silicon truly is

when I break like vengeance

upon its brittle shores.