Jul. 3rd, 2007

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His lips were electric; I tasted
ozone, sizzling, sharp in the back of my mouth.
I didn't know why
he broke away, gestured--
the sky had opened into
a world of cold hard rain,
a world without room for any other sound.

I had always loved a gathering storm,
had come to the water with him to watch
clouds darken, to see salt waves
reflect the turmoil in the sky.
“It's green,” I said, and
the sky opened above us--
but he was afraid, because a jagged finger
of lightning
had kissed a rock in the water just there...
He made me understand, and we ran.

We crossed a field of ruined hay;
a tree fell crashing behind us.
I laughed as I ran through waist-high wet grass.

My foot touched the rough-hewn stone step
of his parents' house—safe--
but then I was caught up in sound
too loud and low to hear at all,
my chest hinged open
and the heart inside lost its rhythm
to join the storm's.
I was inside the thunder.

Then I was inside the house,
wet, alive, elated,
not knowing or caring how close
the last one came.


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December 2010

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