Here, it’s the angriest season:
stroke of lightning tears the stomach
from the sky, humming, heat like
a palm wet & pressed against a mouth
blinding, quiet, August-heavy,
soft & immovable as a keepsake.
Slow gust of wind picks up my life
by the shoulders and sets it down
miles and miles from where it used to be.
Only the lightest things can carry
the heft of your voice–pouring into
and out of the sunlight, covering everything.