Floodwaters

Tonight, I am six again, and your
hands hold me shivering there,
anchored to your shoulders,

navigating waters lapping now my
knees, your chest, rising like the
storm’s dark curse. Now here, your

gnarled hand in mine, in prayer,
I bow my head and thank what
vagrant providence gave me you -

if only for this briefest time, this
night - who laddered me to higher
ground, my weathered ark, my rock.