Stormy weather.

Honouring the dead season,
Lilies bow, unbroken,
Flashlit in the glass.
The wind in the windows
Of the harp-strung house
Violas of sound.

Awkward with ceremony,
Thunder, club-foot, stumbles,
Heart hammering the house.
A wild, abandoned God
Conducting old grievance
Down the trombone gutters.

Inchoate, atavistic,
Old blood keens the senses,
The buckshot panes jump.
We, in the heartstrung house,
The orchestral house,
Hold hands against Eternity.

IRA MAINE. May 2013