I often wonder
if the thunder
has a fine-tuned notion
of exactly
when I actively
could use something to
interrupt
my thoughts.

And when it roars like a cannon
and it cracks like a shot,
I am snapped from my reverie,
sufficiently stopped
from indulging in the art of apprehension.

The suspension of the silence
breaks the tension,
and I look to the sky
as I drive down a road
that I’ve crossed a hundred thousand times before,
but it looks so unfamiliar in the storm.

I find myself relating to the lightning.
Restless.
Relentless.
Bolt after bolt
like a neon arrow
passionately pointing
and yet lacking any real sense
of direction.

But for a breath of a second,
everything illuminates in clarity,
and the vast dark night
is vanquished by
a rapid white-hot flash
that shocks this sleepy city
and quickly comes to pass.

One…
Two…
Three…
Crash.