He awoke
to a body like debris
tossed by the wave
and awkwardly placed
by the absence of fury.
He straightened a rag-doll arm,
worked a leg past the mid-bend catch
to stand and take in the surroundings
through headache and eye blur.
A ramshackle wreck of
bookcases tipped.
Curios smashed into kindling.
Cabinets thrown open
with brass leaves bent,
some unhinged by the force.
There were overdrawn drawers
with their contents pulled out,
and searched through or
scattered on the floor.
Boxes of artwork and portfolios,
the albums of photos,
and sketches and notes;
all the adventures and experiences
organized and stowed, now
lay disarranged
like memories on the floor
seemingly ready for the burning.
I am me 