My Footsteps in the Thunder

I look out past the chimney breasts,
And the liquidine lights extend their
Arms out to reach me,
The swelling bosom of the sky bears a storm.

Sycamore leaves dance in ordered chaos,
At intervals under the street light,
And the electric shocks of rain falling fast
Onto the rotting sill drown my thoughts.

I place my fingerprints on the misty window pane,
As I study their contours,
Insignificant contours - each one different
From the last, they say.

But who is looking? I ask,
As the first fork of lightning
Shatters the scene between me and the skyline,
A moment of tranquility ensues,

Short lived, as I count with my eyes held shut,
Firm and in anticipation,
As the tsunamic wave of sound ascends
The hillside from the bay.

And, embroiled in my longing for the sound,
I feel myself floating, turning upside down,
Extending my weightless body.
To imprint my footsteps in the thunder.