rolling thunder crashed above,
graceful as the shifting wings of a dove.
yet mixed with white fire streaking
down from the Heavens, surely not out of love.
not hate,                                          not pain,
not guilty,                       no shame,
not right,         not wrong,
not biased, no aim.
rolling thunder turned machine,
riddling the supposed time-scape between
it and white lightning. one second,
one mile, so they say, now means nothing to me.
i ran,        one man,
six streaks,         six stands,
no chance?                        we'll see,
these bolts               can't               catch me.*

I
awoke,
just another
dream on the
beach.