It creeps upon us under cover of darkness,
a presence forming on the sleep side of thinking
when seeming and dreaming are one and the same;
until that rumbling tumble of throat-clearing thunder,
once so distant it was a mumble in the mind,
suddenly blows through the open window
with a breath redolent of ozone and rain.

What follows the first fat drops is a drumming
beating a rhythm on the rooftop and panes,
and the scene outside, defined in bright flashes,
surrenders itself to the pummeling wind.
It's then when the storm makes clear the connection
between us and the world in the immense sweep of time:
We are a murmur, a flicker of lightning, no more lasting
than the brief storm outside.


From Toes, Toads, Tulips & Turtles: A Miscellany of Verse (Four Windows Press, 2022).
Used here with permission.