Hierophany

I

A cloud, glowing purple
with mischief
puts a hand on my shoulder
and nibbles at my ear.
Its menthol breeze
hastens me to cover.
When the rain comes
—pitter patter—
I ask only that
it leave its hailstones
at the door.


II

The storm went off.
The storm has no lights.
He’ll come back on,
by tomorrow.
The lights went off.
The lights went down.
Rain and thunder,
by tomorrow.


III

Aha, I caught you—!
     —Caught me at what?
It stopped raining—
     —Yes, but it’s still wet.

This entry posted by J Rand : 20:44