Sounds like you can imagine it. 

The horror. The disbelief. Sounds like you can see  

the outer walls of the houses  

plastered against tentacles  

of the mangrove trees. Seems like you can see  

the researchers pull down the cement board  

—unbuild the new homes  

framed into the branches  

by the winds of the storm, 

bolstered by the flood waters 

foundationed in the wet  

of the flood plains. 

Seems pretty certain that you know  

of the wet carpet, of mold over the floors.  

Sounds like you can taste  

it in your mouth. Seems like what you can’t imagine  

is it happening to you.