​Treetops punched
through the lake’s surface
defiant in their drowning
as the perch swam
among the branches below
the hulls of swamped boats
bobbed on the waves
before coming to rest
on submerged playgrounds
anchoring them to
yesterday’s shores
Seagulls squawked
above the deluge
scraps gone to catfish
feeding on new bottoms
and the sun shone
proud and clear
gilding the windswept waves
as if it had not just been
by the darkness of
the  storm in passing
M. Zane McClellan
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