The oaks shone <br />gaunt gold <br />on the lip <br />of the storm before <br />the wind rose, <br />the shapeless mouth <br />opened and began <br />its five-hour howl; <br />the lights <br />went out fast, branches <br />sidled over <br />the pitch of the roof, bounced <br />into the year <br />that grew black <br />within minutes, except <br />for the lightening - the landscape <br />bulging forth like a quick <br />lesson in creating, then <br />thudding away. Inside, <br />as always, <br />it was hard to tell <br />fear from excitement: <br />how sensual <br />the lightning’s <br />poured stroke! and still, <br />what a fire and a risk! <br />As always the body <br />wants to hide, <br />wants to flow toward it - strives <br />to balance while <br />fear shouts, <br />excitement shouts, back <br />and forth - each <br />bolt a burning river <br />tearing like escape through the dark <br />field of the other.<br /><br />Mary Oliver<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lightning/
