(for Tanya Cliff)
The weight of the weather
with its dark clouds pushing
down on my shoulders
bends me to its omnipotent will.
I know my back doesn’t have
the power to lift up my heart
and soar above such heavy clouds.
I need a chariot of fire …
yet the clouds are so strong,
and the light is so weak
it won’t break through,
except in sudden flashes.
I hear the creak of sodden wheels.
Clouds blinker the lightning
as thunder crashes through my brain.
I listen to the pouring down of rain
and pull the bed sheets over my head.