,
we warm ourselves on lightning
rods. We rumble thunder across
our skin, begin in raindrops. We
thin the skies with contemplated
clouds, and sing aloud our own
singed songs. We’re tornado-strong
and tumbled. We’re hurricane-half
-way there, and helterskeltered to
-ward the coming sun. We’ve won.
..
In November, we poem.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 