Were we really rain that night
or did we
simply trade our words for clouds?
we were not seen
to dream of common storms
and, calmly,
as if it were wrong to scream,
gaped notes of Passion,
with skin set to war scrapes
and eyes
robed in chapel lashes
I believe our thunder was a lie
clapped
in certainties,
wailing over shadows of growth
but tending a jungle of drought…
We were never rain…
we could never have been…
but the madness of time burns deep in us
as this widow
hammers our veins…
More at https://jimbellamy.simplesite.com.