Summer Storm

Summer rains, thunderstorms rage across our souls.
Crashing through the heat and oppression,
Flaming violence, a flash in the pan,
Creating a respite for an instant.  

Drip, drop, drip, drip, drip, dropping from the sky,
Falling on my ground, soak it in your wetness from above,
Turn our clay into mud, mold in your hands the pottery,
To hold the stain of our tea spilled before the masses.

Heat creates steam, soon washed away in a cool breeze.
The storm’s shower extinguishes the fire of the midday sun
Leaves us with muggy, clinging ways
Hold my hand, cling my shirt to your skin. 

I breathe in the rain, allowing its moisture to soothe my throat.
Choke me with the fog, cut off my breath with your damp grasp.
Held in your thrall, waiting for the thunder to clap in my ears,
Clasp my hands to my head, blinded by intense light.

Summer storm,
Blow through the land.
Take me with you,
Drown in your brief downpour;
I don’t need to be.
Lightning to hear, thunder to see.

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