Wednesday, November 4, 2009

The Storm

(On coming Back)

After the laughter of afternoon sun–
After the bluest, clearest sky–

In the interim

a quivering, shimmering sigh
snatched from the lung by a thieving gust,
gruff and rumble,
roil and blust,
sucking at air,
spitting out soil,
taking spoil,
chasing itself narcissistically on,
howling a raucous, virulent song

opens Heaven,
her powerful wings
dropping elixir of crystalline rain
to the beat of tympanic thunderings.

Taking a deep breath now and then,
whispering the furies to calm again,
slowing the breathing, quieting the din,

As the Sun’s rays stream down,
peace within.

July 25, 2002

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