The thick black sky lights up
Like a bug zapper.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Like touching static cling
or an overzealous strobe light.
The sky splits and bright yellow light streaks through
and threatens to touch the dry ground and
send an electric shock through the earth and the hard rocks.
Deadly and beautiful and quick.
as humans, we long to be near it.
To be so close our hair stands on end and a burned smell drifts through the air.
Strike the ground right before me.
Pierce the humid air.
Cut though the darkness.
We desire a close association to the thin lines of electricity we don't understand.
We'll never understand.
Not fully.
We think we do. We think we can cut it down to its atoms and find out what makes it rush out of the clouds.
And then it changes on us faster than we can blink.
And we realize we can never understand it.
The way it functions.
Shows up in our life one minute and disappears the next.
Beautiful and deadly and quick.
And you want it most as it streaks across the California stars.