What is thunder
but a way to remind us hearts beat inside our guarded chests?
Why do the birds go quiet?
And you my friend walk out of the house
to taste the fragrant air.
Count the seconds til it happens again.
Surely inbetween the bell tolls somewhere for someone.
But don’t forget life. You can’t forget life.
It is in us to fail and weep and fall to a knee.
These are black days and sour notes on the Steinway.
Know now there are far more questions than answers.
There is an emptiness.
Some say the prairie is haunting--
a desolate beauty.
Look closely into the draws.
Fix your eyes on the far buttes.
What shapes do you see in the mango-mint horizon?
It all comes and goes. It’s really that simple.
Look into her eyes. There is soul in that guarded chest.
Thunder, come again.
"As always the body wants to hide, wants to flow toward it--strives to balance while fear shouts, excitement shouts, back and forth--each bolt a burning river tearing like escape through the dark field of the other."
Lightning, Mary Oliver
American Primitive
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