Awaiting Thunder, He Dreams



Awaiting Thunder, He Dreams

If all our voices were to meet in the atmosphere
what could the rain achieve?

When we give nothing we have nothing.

Is it enough to listen?

Wisps and heaps, ripples and sheets.

Accumulated, dispersed, fingers
unknotting death’s
grip, steps taken around the flames,

in caution, in delight,
imagining the greatest undoings.



“Awaiting Thunder, He Dreams” was first published in Red River Review, in August 2018.


12 thoughts on “Awaiting Thunder, He Dreams

  1. A legitimately electric proposition! But now I’m impatient; how long to wait until the first thunderstorm of the season? If they’re right, and spring will come early, not long… The kind of storm we get up here — that particular vintage of petrichor — you’re going to love it!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This poem is truly evocative for me. I have a friend who msgs me every time we have a storm to see if I somehow made it come about. It’s my favourite weather; the pressure buildup beforehand, birds, dogs, people, all seem to go a bit nuts and then, aaah, rain! Everything and everyone comes together in a way that brings us home. Undoings for sure. Brilliant.

    Liked by 1 person

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