A monsoon is bound to find itself out of season
and lacking the support of once-torrid winds
if it insists on living its torrent year-round.
Fields of brush to be burned every fire season—
tumbleweeds aren’t perennials, you know.
They’re replaced my new tinder each year.
I’m not saying to slack your sails but know
these shallows sprout reefs in the night.
When the desert flash floods it tears out
every boulder in its pathway. It guts.
About the Poet
Zebulon Huset is a teacher, writer and photographer living in San Diego. He won the Gulf Stream 2020 Summer Poetry Contest and his writing has appeared in Meridian, The Southern Review, Fence, Atlanta Review & Texas Review among others. He publishes the writing blog Notebooking Daily, edits the journals Coastal Shelf and Sparked, and recommends literary journals at TheSubmissionWizard.com.