the horizon always bewitches me
a seamless rolling of the stone, but a grand pronouncement
in my deluded eyes
the beginning, the end
the sun makes its exit, stage west
leaving crimson and gold reminders
of what treasure came before
white mushroom clouds descend
casually, forming cool gray walls
sending silent shafts dancing about
hot as any star
then comes the thunder, thumping
or cracking,
depending on its mood
in this sparkling spectacle,
there is no horizon for me to see
no place to jump off
no “they lived happily ever after”
only the power
of formless forces beyond my control
reminding me
for the first time,
again and again
each warm rain
will wash away mountains of memories
and mist my eyes a little more