It began with trees dancing
in the river's image of the sky,
the river blinking back the rain,
the rain weeping like lost love.
That loss went wild in the wind
until the wind wailed like a banshee.
Then the thunder came and its strange light.
That light cracked open the sky
like an enormous egg. The sky began
to thump and rage. Rage becomes a celestial
stallion trying to outrun the paramour
gods of wind and windy claws.
The storm drives us to the basement.
We descend the stairs like we do our lives -
several steps at a time. Time waits,
fills itself with whatever light it can.
That light shimmers through everything.
It is the light that keeps hope terribly alive.