Heckler of the calm

The poise of a storm
tantalizes the fray; darkness taints the sky and paints his furious shroud as a masquerade

as the gloaming drains my shadow of its arch connecting my toes with its silhouette

The storm dabbles in provoking the lonesome, inviting himself in
unannounced
unplanned for

The fainthearted retreat to timber castles
The bears are corkscrewed in their dens
The birds adhere in pockets like coins of a miser

Across the horizon writhes the storm, rumbling like a train preparing to leave the station. Stoking the furnace. Steaming up

ambling there, with the passengers, as they say their goodbyes
fixing their tears with handkerchiefs; coddling their sadness in linen

’til the rain came to freshen their shoulders
and wilt their collars

lovers scamper from the station as the deluge remoistens their cheeks

The enswathe of drool from the billows
The liquid nucleus of a cloud

For a while he will linger there
sizing up your stature to secure the drench

His tendrils, siphoning your aridity

The tainted fingers of a tempest’s hand
molesting vessels of their emptiness

there, where he cinches up his sleeves
and hurls whispers to the air
projecting zephyr’s on the cusp
collecting leaves in his cuffs

before greeting his apprentice, the lightning
with illuminant style;
The rolling verve that splits the skies
blessing shadows with light
meandering at will

The storm;
a heckler of the calm