Stacey Dye

Nothing flows in or out.
I am stagnant.
A pond without rain,
dense and muddy

hoping for the next
big downpour.
Everything around me
is dead or dying--

sucking on the muck and mire
that surrounds me.
Thunder clouds roll past
but don’t stop.

Even the water lilies
are suffocating.
I hear them gasp for air
in the stillness of the night.