When it was morning, I walked out on Tracy's simmering mood and into her thick June sky.
The elephant's trunk hangs from a cloud In sepia, it seems there can be no explanation, but a dream Scale out of whack -- no longer confined, no turning back.
In color, smooth rampage just born The trunk flails and takes aim. Storms through the corn. Coming for me to reconcile the blame.
I'm still not quite here.
In the afternoon, as Tracy's sky dims to deathly grey and ghostly white, I ran back to her worried eyes and reflected them back. And directly, the stampede consumed my regret.
One of the first pictures of a tornado I ever saw was of the F5 tornado that struck the small Minnesota town of Tracy in June 1968. You can see this picture on my blog -- http://15038g62.blogspot.com/2011/09/elephant.html
The other picture on this page was a picture of this storm I had never seen before...and when I did, this poem quickly took shape.