Heart of the Storm

 

Clearing Storm over Yosemite Valley by Phil Hawkins

 

Heart of the Storm

i love when the wind strokes my throat,
as thunder beats against my chest,
pounding out rhythms —

lightening bolts rippling through my veins,
once a dark cloud strumming streaks of gloom,
into a gasp of flaring white nights,
screeching the cries of earth,
birds clinging to my breasts,
talons embedded —

my bones; skeleton branches waving,
tossed to and fro,
pitter-patter of delicate hail,
scratching out my flesh; taking it to sea
nature’s harsh grasp raging out canyons —

i am left hollow, resembling beauty from pain
elegance after being maimed,
an object of brilliance, after the rain …

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