The weatherman

I played in the hail last night, while the
sky made yellow fractures between the noises
of earthquakes, and it tried to wound me
with small white pebbles sprung from nothing
and shot like ammunition toward the asphalt.
The grocery store clerks stood sheltered and
stared out at the spectacle: others racing
past me through the storm and I alone walking
slowly in a different spatial dimension.

I danced in the twilight tonight, as it burnt
out the sun in a great golden gleam in the
west, and cast its purple cloak across the
canyon to make shadowed remains of mountains.
The neighbors rushed inside from front yards
and the cars all returned to line the curbs.
The hush of nighttime fell all around, and
indoor lights flickered like false flames,
showing only the streets the color of curtains.

Tomorrow, electric fans and air conditioning
units will cool my boiling blood and pull my
eyelids downward like shutters, until I sleep
in the daylight holding crossed arms near my
damp heart.