as the first clouds of the coming storm
ride up and over the mountains, catching
and casting the gold of the late day sun,
while in the valleys arrayed to the east
deep cloud-shadows slide up and over
and around, caressing the long curves
of her hills, then fall away, smoothly
like the silk of her dress might slide
from the skin of a lover’s shoulder.
how can we not love her?
this earth. how can we not want
to lay ourselves across the soft rise
of her hills, want to lose ourselves
in the gathering shadows of her valleys,
imbed ourselves in the moist warmth
of her hollows? how can we not surrender
to the cries of her thunder, to the white
heat of her lightning, how
can we not abandon ourselves completely
to the dark and passionate embrace
of her terrible gathering storms?
© Old Bones, New Snow/ J.A. Fink 2013