I want to be the thunder of your rain,
the great, heaving indifference that breaks you
into submission to the Kingdom,
an elegant agony
floundered only if the fire
is not wet and threatened
by the Storm.
Love, you cannot quench
desire, but you can curb your eyes
to see only great Light in the beacon
that arrests and kills all darkness,
that is lightning harnessed indefinitely,
that is the wrack of the Heavens,
whip of rage delivered
into my hands, in your embrace
salvaged at last, a wrecking wreckage
forgiven
nevertheless.
10/20/2016
Vancouver