After a Long Storm

Sometimes after a long storm
when the sky threatens to bleed
through the thick ribs of overcast
I want the rain to return.
I want the comfort of clouds,
the tattered sky easy to grasp,
not smooth blue ceramic heaven.
I want the clean patter of rain
easy to listen to,
not the sun shouting light
on all my wrinkles, spots and sags.
The storm was revelation.
Rain was baptism.
But the sun is a lidless eye
that sees everything.

I don't believe in mercy.
I want to grab that last cumulus
slipping over the edge of the earth
and wrap it around my body.
I want to live in fog,
wandering in grey light forever,
remember color only in dreams.


—Eric Nelson