Storm Rocket
The big storm comes, rattles
the latch of night, batters twilight
with its troll voice and god hands,
throws soil from a thousand raped fields
at my face, dry earth's stripped debris,
melted smell of dirt-charged void
electric as the ghost of your lips in the dark.
I'd wear it like a rocket, follow it, fly with it
to that other land where wheat sings to
the living earth, lightning is a dreamer's
dance and storms sigh down
a cobweb of emerald rain;
but seventy years of hot wind
have made me small as dust,
a pygmy trapped in
this unbreakable
walnut-shell
of pain.
May 2020
posted for The Sunday Muse
Images: Sky in Saskatchewan, author unknown, via internet Fair Use
Rocket, by Brad Phillips Fair Use
