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Night Storm

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I wake in dark, hard edges press Into a valley I have walked before. Curtains flap -- tireless birds, November drops a last leaf in my hands. Rain multiplies, air thick with sound Tears walls apart, And I become a child, legs drawn up Breathing my shallow breath, My hands a cup. And then I hear my child Murmur in his sleep And my fears grow thin. Now let the storm arch or abate No spasm of light or dark Tear horizons or rebuild them; Shapes of the world are not my concern. I listen to the wild outside But hold a skein of tangled moonlight.


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