it’s just a wish i whisper
into tonight’s pre-storm
wind. a partially earnest
prayer. for what might
i demand of the breeze,
of this bedeviled planet?
i move against it, the
wind that has kicked
up upon hearing my
useless demand, and
in that way i enter the
storm. every fixture of
the city, even me, gets
lit in azure silhouette
before each booming
clap of thunder cleans
the ears, blows the grime
from its grasp upon all
that’s good. and down
comes the rain to dilute
the poison enough to
move it, to redistribute
it until my world and i,
we’re clean, if not a bit
world-weary and wise.
thusly, mountains are
flattened and steadfast
firmaments by violent
gulfs or roiling oceans
swallowed whole.
