The distant flash behind my back
this dead of night makes shadow plays
upon the fleeing clouds that ghost
so grey between the stars
in soft array.
We none of us can hear
the thunder break itself
from where we are.
This storm-thrown light on candlesmoke
is all we have to know, so far.
Unworrying, the clouds fly
running off, away, and safe -
while I can only half-assume
the storm is dragging after them
its heavy wings, to sweep the sky.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Anything you have to say - question, critique, interpretation, praise or rebuke - is received with gratitude and interest.
If it looks like spam and contains a link, though, it will not be published. I will cherish it to myself, instead. Thank you!