this storm

a third blanket pulled over a cowering child,
disgruntled clouds begrudgingly churn eastward --
clearing throats,
tugging the damp dark along

beneath we strain to hold or flee oncoming wild.
roots too deep, left to sway prostrate toward
waning light,
shrinking at rumbling song.

dropping hard, the atmospheric Niagara piled:
pollens flushed, dust muddied and poured
on bathing grass,
blinking at the retaliating light.