I hear the thunder
a rumble in the distance
attended by flashes of light,
Moving at its own speed
neither slow nor hurried
cleaning and healing and washing,
An integral and intimate component
of what lives, and is, and will
following its path and swath, wet
Washing my face, smoothing lines
of worry and doubt, and fear,
falling on my hair, washing
with sound and sense and light,
Time is not chronology
or a clock
Time is sometimes soft.
often hard, and driving
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.