Written into the Earthen Contract

Perversions of thunder undress
the sky, exposing its essentials.
We cower in the study and count
the seconds between lightning
and its long undulating verb.
Nothing can redeem the slaughter

of innocence everyone suffers
the first time weather enters
the primal matrix of thought.
Rain pummels our flower garden.
It saddens the lilies and roughs
heavy leaves of hybrid hosta.

The vegetable world considers
this experience foundational,
written into the earthen contract
that precedes the human event.
We crouch over the weather map
smiling on the laptop on which

most of our knowledge depends.
Soon enough the storm will end
by drifting east and out to sea.
The sky will look embarrassed
until full dark prevails, ending
our séance with a murky kiss.