The mantle of the lake, the shield of the sky
Holding back the stars, and, on cloudless nights,
The sunset, button the lake and sky closed.
The first barely audible thunder sigh
Is preceded by a cloud-blurry light.
The sound grows orderly, almost composed.
It’s midnight and I stand at the window.
The lightning never flashes where I look
And blinds me from above and below,
The lake refracting every crooked hook.
When it’s upon me, I cover my ears
And close my eyes to resurrect old fears.
Then the rain comes and the violence flies
Up the hills behind me and quickly dies.
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