the thunder speaks

as the cities of the earth
and the cities of the west
continue on, dangerously
close to the edge, the
thunder speaks to me.
no, not in words
lest they lock
me up, but i
trust the
booming
mess-
age.

telling me to
harbor hate like a criminal -
let it loose, don't lose it -
lost in this moment of time-
lessness of tenderness - the
smile, the ha-ha got you to
say something on tape to be
obligated for later ...

later, at the ranch-
house slash outpost,
lunch was served on
paper plates - tec-
tonic movement, the
earth continues
on, miraculous,
no help and yet
there's hope over
the next hill, after
the next bend in the road.

beyond the reality of what you see
to the poetry within a singular
moment or feeling or thought
only remembered, as if for
the first time - this
silent rehearsal,
this songtrack
of dreams
better
not
talked
about.