Thunder without Rain

Strange, strange, storm—
growling
at the pink-cheeked sunset,
as if she'd forgotten
your name
 
A soft brightness
slides under your mumbles—
the hot mist defying
you to sing
 
A shot
strikes the power out,
forcing in-bound souls
to gaze up,
wide-eared,
at the mystery of day—

rumbling over itself
to declare:
I may be static,
but I am alive.

Written in the 2000s. Edited at the time of this post. A companion piece to “Rain without Thunder”.

freestyle, non-rhyming, nature, short