The Storm

  I woke 

wondering

if the world was ending

  I huddled in bed

listening 

to the back door rattling on it's hinges

watching 

the eerie black claws of a tree branch's shadow 

dance 

to a jumpy

off-skew rhythm

Lightning snapped

too many negative image photographs of my bedroom

I wandered the house

looking

for destruction

I marvelled

that four walls and a roof

create a pocket of safety

in the center of violent passion

This morning

the world is a strange loveliness

like a fantastic reality

like a gift

like sun on glass