I could have skipped my walk, but trudged
instead into the rain. Hard rain, a long crawl
through blazing darkness, under the trees.
Raindark, early dusk. Not quite a crawl, more like a crouch.
Not really trees, but thornbushes. Hawthorne and buckthorn.
I could have gone mall-walking, but it’s not my thing.
Through the thorn bushes, it’s two steps
across the Peninsula, river
on the north, bay to the south. The trail clings
long to the slick edge of the bank, a misstep
away from dark water.
On all sides, thunder.
Over and over.
a blaze of noise and light.
On the trail, half a dead fish,
huge pike, mouth open, eyes
turned up, milky but staring
into the strobe of sky.
A smear of moon shone through clouds,
waxing gibbous, a blur under the lace
of mist, visible between flashes.
To the rain and moon I lifted my face,
suddenly glad I had come. I wanted
to lick all the light from the sky.
051117 for Keith and Pat
for my reading tonight at the Wescott Community Center