Another storm warning.
Cotton clouds turn into coal smoke,
Flashes splice the sky.
We’re drenched by pelting rain,
until it blows by again.
Wouldn’t it be nice
if the newscaster flashed
storm warnings
about flashes of temper
and drenching tears,
so we knew to stay indoors
or prepare our rain gear?
You are a poem
that only angels know.
You move with the ocean’s pulse
waves kissing the shore
twice a day,
touching sky,
swelling with promise.
You are a poem
only the angels know,
but I am listening
for your words
on the wind,
reaching to catch
the rhythm,
in the rolling tide,
stretching to hear
the angels whisper.
You are a poem
I long to know.
Shawn L. Bird 