i hear
in the thunder
the broken physical law,
the charges allowed
to roam through
distant hills convicted.

i hear
unsettling questions
and unfinished answers
in the angst of the
coming storm.

and we,
reacting viscerally,
in scattered movement,
seal ourselves
bending humbled
at this, a small
foreboding of
the dance of creation.

as from the turbulence
of atmosphere; living
rain, portending
the turbulence of birth;
comes child,
  
and like
the collection
of rain in stream
after the falling,
the rolling away
of thunder and
parting cloud,
i find a
a loveliness
small enough to
cradle in my
cupped palms.

and as it finishes,
each grinding
passion,
falling to necessary
memory,
it becomes the
promise renewed.