Storm herald, you are; cold wind so urgent.
The frigid gust that tenses skin and straightens hair.

You woke me.
You broke me.

Broke like the first hard rain on dry, cracked soil.
Lazy petrichor, pervasive and benevolent.

You’re in me.
You’re on me.

On me like the heavy heat of a sticky summer night.
The damp air perspiring in the absence of the sun.

You quelled me.
You held me.

Held me like a moment ere the fall.
Beyond the edge where only canyon walls await.

You caught me.
You’re not me.

Not me when I break like so many promises-
On the tongues of those who meant well.

You heal me.
You see me.

See me like the dappled sun through leaves-
That strain to keep their grip upon the branches.

You fought me.
You taught me.

Taught me like the goal was absolution-
Where the judges held the glass.

You feel me.
You hear me.

Hear me like the pleas of fated ghosts-
Intent on salvaging eternity.

You own me.
You’ve shown me.

Shown me radiance on windows-
Warmth that melts the morning frost, unbidden.