Clouds crash together in violent unity
electricity spasms in startling delight
and liquid discharges interminably

Liquid, be it sleet, snow, hail or rain
may sheets of it fall into the earth.
May birth be begun, green splendor sprout
so that the world is never without
cold wet crunchy vegetables

But a storm isn’t just inventive; it’s equally destructive.
May it knock down trees
flood fertile farmlands
overturn houses and drown them in seas
billowing with wind and waves.

It destroys in order to create.
With its downpour
it triggers an outpour
of inspiration;
to witness a storm is most compelling.

Compelling, when every object
and every piece of debris
whips haphazardly through air at a speed
only machinery can equal.
When the sky is so confused
that it turns a sickly shade of green.
When the rain is so hard
its descent upon your head
is like a thousand jagged bricks.
When the ground is illuminated by puddles
soon glimmering to welcome the sun’s return.
When you no longer give a damn about prudence or dryness
and stomp in every puddle you see.
When goliath splashes jump like salutary dogs
soak your clothing, and hone in on
the scowling mink coats
of elderly passersby.
When you return home, hovering and elated,
dripping without a care on all your furniture.

When everything has ceased to matter.
When no inhibition could undermine
the ecstasy of unequivocal release,
and so the heavens themselves gape open
like the maternal bird
benevolently regurgitating
upon the thirsty children

here in the nest.