Weather in the Soul

Sitting in Wyoming
it is evening and
I am looking north into Montana

Along the line of a horizon
with a relief no larger
than that on the back of my hand
lightning jiggles and flashes
between the flat
black
bottom of a storm cell
And the dark nightbound ground

Above that thin
gray leaden flash veined
electric stratum
a billowing bulging
cumulus nimbus nimbus
slowly builds enormously
while horizontal evening sunshafts
burnish it
braze it
gild it
as it grows

It is raining in Montana

The grass is yellow
brittle and burned
though it the greening time of June

This summer is a withered bride

The husks of their prayers
littering their days
sunstunned people have looked up
til now
into the early mornings
into already hot and perfect skies
and felt fear

But right now it is raining
across the line
in Montana

Falling on dryland wheat
on upturned palms
on farmers’ faces
eyes closed in thanks

God touched me too this summer

I sit on this bench
looking north into the evening
at that glittering line
where it is fresh with falling rain
and thunder

And I know the feel of those fervid
answered prayers