Thunderstorm

Gods! To try and sit in class when there's a thunderstorm!
It's hard enough to care about the Populist Party
When the sun is shining and birdsong beckons.
But oh--to hear the thunder crash beyond the wall--
Nature's passion rising hot and wet to climax
Energy so intense it rips across the sky, parting moist darkened clouds like a lover's furious tongue, streaks of silver light and lust . . .
Is it because She whom I call Rain mingles, kisses, teases, penetrates,
Her whom I call Earth?
Or is it just that when the wind rises screaming in pleasure, my spirit soars with it?

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