When I stand beneath the storm-bruised clouds
I feel like they will fall on me.
Pent-up energy spikes the air, dizzying, electrifying.
Seagulls take flight; they can feel the tension.
The clouds burst with a noise like tearing silk,
Droplets of liquid light.
Polished gems fracture all over me,
My gleaming skin worth more than deep-sea pearls.
The sound of a thousand hooves.
An army of clouds, a sky torn by war.
Aeolus lets loose his winds, Poseidon raises his trident,
And waves breathe spray upon the stones.
Lightning. Milk in black coffee, sped up, on fast-forward.
Pounding, frothing waters. Foam on a cappuccino.
Pebbles. Sugar grains, stirred up, dissolving.
Wheeling seagulls. Coffee-grounds, escaping the strainer.
Inside the teacup, a storm is beautiful.