Climatic Divinations
This rain’s certain to be scarlet, vermillion,
sanguine, carnelian,
issuing from the open vein in the sky.
There’s a thin white line of lightning, a pulsing scar
on the bruised underbelly of
the cumulonimbus, a roiling paroxysm.
In our arrogance to tame ungovernable skies,
we predict seed clouds alter wind
but it matters nothing
to the storm.
About the Author: Rebecca Clifford’s poetry and prose has been widely published at home and in international anthologies and e-zines She lives in rurally, near a watershed, gardens with a backhoe, and plants as many sunflowers as the ground will hold.
Image Credit: Sir David Murray “Before the Storm” (1887) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
As It Ought To Be 