We Touch Here

A poem.

We Touch Here (for my wife who loves thunderstorms)  

where these lines disperse
 into the sky, wet letters
 smearing off into black clouds.
 Distant thunder
 an old man muttering
 slurred syllables.
 Heat lightning,
 a brief illumination
 between the darks.
  – B.R. Strahan

 
 
 

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...