Storm breathes hot,

twists desert winds with

cloud-black hands,

bolts with light

the thunderheads, pealing—then

the clatter of rain,


pouring. Dark

seeps and soaks, crow-black,


No moonlight

passes through these wild pinions,

the cold sky’s heartbeat.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

8 thoughts on “Thunderstorm”

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