THE STORM

I.
Looming night sky morphs and in a flash-becomes day,
leaves a strange uneasiness behind.
A crack of lightning, heartbeat raised
wait for thunder.

Sky an inch from face surrounding in all directions,
blindly pulled,
raindrops continue.
how much time is left?

Crack of day, split the night,
heartbeat, triple, Poe delight.

Raindrops continue,
incessant tick that must stop,
the dripping faucet, ticking clock,
drip-drop
how much time left?

Crack-
The night refolds in black

life continues.
how much time is left?

II.
Predictably I come to my tree,
the only dry spot.
ghostly gray even in night,
iridescent, quivering in night shattered light.

III.
We hug.
I touch her skin.
She is sturdy and damp but she hugs better than anyone I know.
I touch her and think if she could move she'd touch in all the right places,
like Italian meals, and fireside books, not-too-sweet-lemonade in July

like a lover.

C-RRR WHACK!

The sky unzips one last time the roaring tumbling follows behind,
and in the sky
it is
revealed,

drip-drop,
out of time.




Poetry by Coneja Linda
Read 599 times
Written on 2009-08-10 at 17:29

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