Thursday, February 9, 2017

morning storms

Thunder quickly follows pink snake-snap of lightning
sharp electric swords cut from rose dawn
shirring clouds of grey morning gloom
rain drops pound into showers, beating down each
cutout bank of smog pea soup fog.
Lightning rills again, thunder booms--
closer this time,
nearly on the lightning's heels.
the lines fork just above my head
I run, past trees, through lush succession of shower drops
I hunch, crouched, crunched by the electric force
huddled by the fence, rabbit-like,
cowering in the vast maw of field and sky
by pine tree, electric line, improv lightning rods,
counting Aves between lighting lash and thunder crash
as rain soaks through my shirt, hair, and eyes.

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