—
—
Here he comes.
I know he’s on his way. I can’t
See him but I feel the
Tremor. Maybe outside the
Wind has come up,
A last leaf ripped from
The squealing oak and
Rain jumps onto the panes
Scared too,
Trying to get in.
He’s coming.
I just know it.
Taste of metal in my mouth
Green skies.
Welcome the storm.
