I am building in quiet rain for today;
shoring up a long projected forecast
of epic proportions in meteorological sorcery,
but soundless are the rippled inner predictions
of my forthcoming howls;
whipping protective coverings off the hinges
locked behind my trembling lips:
stifled echoes sourced from silent gatherings
of my heart’s heavily expectant grief—
heaving and already beaten before a quickening
pace of the coming storms;
though there should be no more thunder
hiding in the clouds,
and I doubt I have it in me yet
to clash again so soon;
after your lightning has felled every tree in my forest;
after your slash and burn plays for better meadows in a second life left me standing dumbstruck
in a flash graveyard for the bones of all my willows;
Dominos toppled on so many hopeless,
wooden promises of less opportunities for weeping,
logged and dropped harder with every moment you’d rather choose to see the devil in my dancing, but please believe I tried.

…or don’t,

but know instead—
I have...