These Hazy Days

Riverside Rainstorm

Lo, such a downpour
as I before have never seen--
It blows and shakes and bellows
like some primordial rain-fiend.

        It may be slowing in its lashes
        but the thunder rumbles on--
        Blooming as a flower should
        during summer's dainty dawns.

But black petals it has,
and a stem of razors too.
Curling in the storm's pressure,
it makes the lightning brew.

        Next the rain-fiend calls afar
        to some goddess I don't know
        And quickly obeying the damp demand,
        she summons a hail-pelt show.

Trembling now, the river is, and
the ground that carries me--
I can't help but feel the planet must
as well, in reverie.

        The ponderosas stand high on the hills
        as some soldiers are known to do;
        Listening in silence as the thunder fades
        and fills the sky with deep gray-blue.

And to the west the storm retreats,
leaving white fog in its wake--
But in me it thunders on,
and my bones still hum and shake.