Invocation

Come vast wind, numinous rains sacred
to those who write their names in dust,
who listen for thunder, who seek portents of storms
in uneasy sleep. I would break for you,

I’d yield like a barley field, hands
deep in the moistening ground, spin
crazy into your darkness; I’d rend cloth,
stand bodily within you tossing rain

from blinded eyes, forgetting house and fields
and friends—fingers, palms and breath
releasing, untying, dissolving in rain,
flying apart into the storm. So

come, vast wind, numinous rains—sacred,
inviolable, longed for: thrice blessed,
by those who listen for thunder, who seek portents
of storms in uneasy sleep, come.

— Marcus James

Image result for lightning storm

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