... (xxx).

with the terror that falls down

upon you

in glistering sheets

like the Word from Heaven

the bushes burn every evening

before night comes

--they speak the fiery proscriptions

of the dying sun

the exegesis and apologia

of shadow caught in their branches

sliding from your shoulders

your feet mark the flood-line

--the light on your face warns

that you may be drowning

--but I felt the first of the rains

prickle my forearms

I smell the mountains in the air

--give me a God like a mountain

and I will worship it with my lungs

weather

if it had rained

I would've stopped by your house

on the way home

and dragged you out into the street

--you should take off those wet things, shouldn't you?

but the rain never came

and the dry lightning forked the sky

and I hurried home

alone--just this side of terror

for the chances that never came

and the plans that never came together

for the words unsaid, the worlds unmade

flashed bright, once, then gone forever

for all the things that never happened

--I find it's best to blame the weather.