The oaks shone
gaunt gold
on the lip
of the storm before
the wind rose, 
the shapeless mouth
opened and began
its five-hour howl; 
the lights 
went out fast, branches
sidled over
the pitch of the roof, bounced
into the year
that grew black
within minutes, except 
for the lightening - the landscape
bulging forth like a quick
lesson in creating, then
thudding away. Inside, 
as always, 
it was hard to tell
fear from excitement: 
how sensual
the lightning’s
poured stroke! and still, 
what a fire and a risk! 
As always the body
wants to hide, 
wants to flow toward it - strives
to balance while
fear shouts, 
excitement shouts, back
and forth - each
bolt a burning river
tearing like escape through the dark
field of the other. 

Added: Apr 13 2005 | Viewed: 1800 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Mary Oliver
Poem: Lightning

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