Lightning

[sadoeuphemist]

Lightning strikes.
Lightning spikes.
Lightning spills and stains the sky.
Lightning crackles.
Lightning shivers.
Lightning spasms, shrieks, and dies.

Lightning sings. 
Lightning stings. 
Lightning cleaves the world asunder.
Lightning threads through gale and thunder.
Lightning strips the leaves from trees—thin bare branches, stark and grasping
at the wind in helpless tremors.
Lightning sets down roots and sighs. 
Storm is coming. 
Lightning sends the people running, lights the raindrops,
draws a jagged line between us
and the darkness. Lightning flickers,
shows the world in all its glory
right before the gloom moves in and
lightning cracks the vault of clouds, makes the rain come tumbling down.
Lightning, fine-veined, many-fingered, writhes and reaches for the ground.
Lightning hangs untouched, inverted, looming rocks far overhead.
It could kill us.
Just a word, and lightning plummets
from the heavens,
torches burning for the dead.

Lightning shatters.
Lightning scatters.
Lightning bathes the world in fire.
Lightning flashes.
Lightning lashes
out obliquely, groping, seeking,
churning air into a frenzy. Lightning quickens.
Lightning rages in the distance.
(please don't see us)
Lightning punctuates a chorus,
echoes through the world unhindered
in the great and lowly places.
Lightning stoops to kindle fire. 
Lightning leaps atop a spire, splits the crown 
of tree and tower, tears stone down,
anoints the sacred site with ash— 
Lightning lingers
for a moment,
imprints itself in afterimage,
as we huddle, glancing skyward, 
waiting
for the storm to pass.