Other Wind
07 / August07 / August07 / August


Clouds gather,
pull water from the air,
leave dry the space I try to breath.
I gasp.
I pray the clouds let loose their rain soon.

Wake me.
Wash away my withered shell.
Open me, raw and wild,
fresh sky against a secret,
kept hungry and cold,
with a hand over it,
pressed hard.

When the storm comes,
that secret will mingle in the air,
outcry the thunder.
Its boom will break across the earth.
Each strike of light
will shock forward a newer voice,
a deeper boom.

I will be wet with no where to go but out
into the rain.