Thunder

I hear the thunder

a rumble in the distance

attended by flashes of light,

and rain.

Moving at its own speed

neither slow nor hurried

cleaning and healing and washing,

like rain.

An integral and intimate component

of what lives, and is, and will

following its path and swath, wet

with rain.

Washing my face, smoothing lines

of worry and doubt, and fear,

falling on my hair, washing

with sound and sense and light,

like rain.

Time is not chronology

or a clock

Time is sometimes soft.

often hard, and driving

always cleansing,

 like rain.

This poem is submitted for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems, please visit the site. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph: Before the storm by Larisa Larisa via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.