Rolling Thunder

under different skies

whatever gods pertain

we hear the clatter

of their knucklebones or dice

on the roof of the world

any brontal alarm

came too late for the lightning

-struck neanderthal

some feel the rumble in their bones

others in more liquid places

and ride out the storm

whispering wordless secrets

we watch percussive rain

whether through windows

a cave-entrance or our fingers

and wait for it to stop

hoping for the Iridian arch

the sky-colours or a rainbow

to promise sunshine