Spill/tsunami

Spill/tsunami short poem

Photo by pasowino

What is made when lightning strikes?
Is sand turned to glass
like a heart kissed
by love, for the first time.
pure, clear, refracting rainbows
in the corner right above your bed
caught for a split second in the summer afternoon.
So innocent, and so fragile
to be hild like wild flowers
blowing away in rough winds,
pulling with all their might
at the dry ground for even one drop
of sweet water.
Or the butterfly that flits through the air
on the cool breeze,
if you touch it, it may never fly again.

Or does lightning, like love too
make us coarse, black, filled with fire
before we turn to ash.
Like an oak creaking, falling in the night.

Or a barrel made of that very same wood
filled to the rim with wine
redder than blood
dropped.
Spilling sweet acrid passion all over
the workman’s clothes.

Like that time I broke down in public
spilling it out all over the cashier at the liquor store
pleading that someone would,
mop me up.
take me home.
or have the decency to notice,
the waves in me that
had become a tsunami,
engulfing everything.

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Chaise Rocco Levy

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Born in Topanga Canyon I found poetry first in the changing of the seasons, the sly movements of animals telling stories with their walks. But it wasn't until moving to Portland, Oregon that I discovered my expression, the welling of words in my self to express the beauty in mundane, the Holy Moments of every day life surrounded by concrete and towering metal buildings. A journey in finding the slyness in the human animals, and the shifting seasons on busses in a great city.
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