Dorothy Gale's Instructions
on the Night of the Thunder Moon

Let the wreckage lie.
Tell it to be quiet.
No more static. No more howling.
No more humbling reminders of what was.

Never mind the torn shingles.
What's inside will keep.

Unlock the gates. Throw away the keys.

Look up at dusk into a purple sky,
the last of a tender bruise.

Note the distant rumble of July letting go.
Let your demons go with it,
the sky one heavy sigh upon release.

Enter the great Thunder Moon
to wash the slate clean.

Note the stillness of the trees,
the scent of wet earth.

Stand in the place where you live.
You are no longer looking for home.