Zest Lit Issue 2, October 2013 - Page 212

Through The Liquid Dark | Charles Thielman

Storm mallets on a flat roof wake me

into a surprise of being.

Outside this swung open window, thousands

of raindrops, wind-blown orange through streetlight,

become streams braided over gutters into corner pools.

Lone freight train rolling over creosote ties;

an engineer horns his way through the liquid dark.

Hungry to see his aging face in a dawn lit mirror

he palms a rain-soaked cloth brow to chin.

Storm drums his iron hut, face led

by a bright lamp on wet tracks,

this heavy rain waxed red and white

by the crossing gates and marquees of small towns.

Wet antlers between blue spruce,

the quick smoldered gleams of animal eyes

reflecting passage.