Thunderstorm in May

Gusts of the sun race north across the grass.
Humped from the eastern hills dark clouds arise,
Knotted God-muscle, mass, and hover,
Coasting near in mantled poise above the earth,
 Cloaking the sun.
Trees, caught in a timeless trice of overshadowed frailty, tremble.
Leaves, upturned, gleam, unreally bright, like fevered lovers’ eyes.
The air crackles, hushed.
Tense, the earth draws breath.

roots of light blossom
 veins of sky made visible
 run down ready channels
 like shivers



[Mortals, cornered on an alien cosmic stage,
Scurry, in averting panic.]

skyseed spears in spurts of sharp white flame
spreads rippling fingers through the moist brown
shuddering flesh of the green earth;
unheralded streak the stabbing thrusts,
recoiling cracks of clinging forms
clash through the heavens, ringing wide.

It pierces, once again it rips:
seeding salts in the dark soil
the knuckled mass passes over

 Cattle gather in the nodes of warm arteries,
 Clustered in the wake of the Old One, Ever-Young,
 Whose new bride hums again in bliss unfolded,
 Combing the clear spring droplets
 From her green sunglistered hair.

[Published in Ocular magazine (early 1990s)]


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