Thunderstorm Below the Mountain
(after Hokusai)
Lacking humility, I take without thinking.
How far we’ve come, to look below for
lightning, the valleys shaken
with thunder, answers
like pebbles flung outward,
each to its own arc, separate
yet of one source, shaded into the question.
Is it for the scarcity of reach,
the reverse view through the bamboo rings
well out of sight, that
breath in the wave’s tuck or
smoke mingling with the clouds
and figures collecting salt,
that I edge myself closer, again,
to this place? To be nothing
presumes presence in absence.
Lacking humility, I accept without thinking.
“Thunderstorm Below the Mountain” first appeared here in March 2016.
O at the Edges 
Love this: answers like pebbles thrown each with its own arc” – poems are like that! Each tossed out arcing toward varying questioning recipients who may seize upon a phrase and suddenly have a firmer grasp of some puzzle, a hint of possible solution
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Sometimes the pebbles land. Sometimes they vanish, never to be seen (or tossed) again.
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