A warning, the first sound
like the first light, the only light.
A knock on wood or stone,
a muffled rumble; slow, prepared,
the way a prayer starts
from an old mouth. I am afraid
to love. There is always night,
the constant pulse of thunder.
All around the eye, the frenzy
shakes and howls. A seasonal storm,
this is no surprise. Far in the distance
a horizontal crack of white between
the rain, the clouds,