& the lightning is a vein
on the back of
god's subtle, murderous hand as
the tired old deity
stretches out across the sky.
the night is hot,
ripe and near-bursting,
like the moment
just before a flower opens,
its mouth like someone drowning,
gasping for air -
& the ocean shifts,
restlessly,
like a dog plagued by
torturous dreams,
whimpering & twitching,
at the foot of the earth's bed
oh something is about to happen
whispers the awed congregation
of tallgrass,
wringing their hands
around the deserted, windchapped
summer estates -
into this, eventually,
the sun rises -
an impatient member
of the audience, standing up,
making his irritable way
home
