there’s a storm rolling in
over there
coming here
and in not so very long a time
it’ll land

it’ll bring rain in white rocks                  down

it’ll bring fire in bright rods                                    up

up from the ground

 

and if you move far enough out
of yourself
of the house
of the box

and away from the noise

– all that noise –

you can hear it rumble.

 

‘cause a storm doesn’t just come upon you.

it growls,
low, and without breath,
in ceaseless roll.

it takes the ton pounds of clouds,
undulating and thick,
and puts them down into your gut.

it drives into the earth, and up through your legs, till it sits in your hips
and tightens the grip
on the wind that’s left
in your lungs.

 

It takes the air and stills it,

takes the eye and fills it,

with arrangement while it hovers you

in grey and green it covers you

in mutable, mercurial dance

as you stand there, fixed. entranced.

 

see it swelling

feel it floating

moving like smoke,

undissipating

and strong.

and when it passes,
you wonder how anything so big
could be

gone.

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