Dirty whitecaps and foam from churning dark water glow
in the headlights of the car I drove
down and around our knob’s gravel road
to its intersection with the creek.
Yesterday, flat stone to flat stone,
I had walked on the water.
Tonight, the roil and roar of the river glutted huge with rain,
engorging veins of gullies and creeks,
threaten with turbulent teeth of froth and mud
to devour the car,
rush me down the swollen creekbed circling the knob
and into the riverbelly.
Tonight, the Lord is not willing,
and neither am I.
I back up, turn,
and spitting gravel,