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