Lull

July 4 2011

After the storm

in the exhausted air

among the casualties

of torn leaves, and downed branches,

the burnt smell

of ozone

singes my nose.

And the subterranean rumble

of distant thunder

is more felt than heard,

entering my body

from where I stand

on immovable earth.

Summer storms

should be fast and furious,

then stop

as if a switch had been flipped.

Spent clouds,

a golden shaft of light

forcing them to part,

a rainbow, in evanescent mist

like an impressionist work of art.

But this feels like held breathe

like time, suspended,

waiting for the next

massive front.

All that energy

stored-up

in the ocean of air,

about to burst free

in lightning, hail, rain.

As if this flimsy roof

could shelter me

from nature’s strength.

I am a bottom-feeder

on the floor of this ocean of air.

An insignificant creature

waiting out the lull;

senses tense

on edge,

as the electricity builds

again.