Storm (July 4th)

Storm

It’s here, 

ominous, 

the sky deepening, 

the black dusk

in dark fists 

of clouds, 

thickening blindly, 

overhead. 

Everything is still, 

waiting, 

a great thirst 

covers the brittle, 

dry, 

and empty earth, 

even the birds 

have stopped 

singing, 

hidden in the forest,

seemingly empty 

of life,

and silent 

in the hushed quiet 

of a million voices 

closed,

in the futile grasp 

of leaves, 

there’s a pressing, 

a weight 

of heaviness, 

the sky pushing, 

down against 

a vanquished wind.

And the first drops 

are heavy, 

a thousand thousand eyelids 

closing, 

suddenly, 

a great flood 

of summer tears, 

falling, 

releasing,

fragrances thick 

and wonderful, 

until as unbounded 

as they started, 

falling, 

they stop.

A split 

of sky, 

splinters 

of light. 

And rolling 

thunder,

covers the earth 

with yielding gold.

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