When amber flares of afternoon
puncture storm clouds with a
thrust so sudden the rain hasn't
yet ceased; I nod my head—
this is how it is—
grand demonstration
of transition—tells us
that warmth needs unsettled
darkness to spur our hearts
to beating.
Behind such clouds there
burns the natural state—the
Sun's sea it churns and
such blackness and
discomfort
are but hiccups in the
cosmic backdrop
of planets
and stars
which yawns
wider than imagination.
And as
darkness settles firmly
at night—behind God's
closed eyes—we too can sleep
and imagine ourselves
as characters in his dreams,
impurities in his portrait.
