The Living Skies Struck Us Dead
Most of this is coffee and metaphors,
and mornings waking up in the dark.
When lightning hit the gable,
it shook our bed, made the radio
short out, left our fingers tingling,
and when I asked you to touch my skin
I almost thought I’d see sparks,
almost thought we’d both be singed.
But others felt it too, the dark cloud
above our houses. We were not alone
in thinking light had left its traces
of ozone where we slept under sheets.
That surge of blue light engulfed
us like a wick, left us wanting.