Last week
I read
Mr. Pimental
behind his home
with his son
clearing debris in the storm
when the hill fell.

They worked for three hours to free them,
each tug of breath
pulling in rain and mud.
His family cold, soaked,
to witness.

After so long and far,
what fiber ties me to this tragedy?
Each word, a rending,
and a week of suffocating dreams.