tunnels through dark clouds
and sky disappears
fast
the way smoke
floats down a song of slow air.
In that air
a dark column of rain
works the years back,
nights a grandmother’s violin
filled dark miles
with the fire of being alive
and tornadoes
carried the wrecks of houses
and trees uprooted from air.
Now the storm is breaking
down a shaft of rain
across a field.
Odor of land and rain,
sweet,
filling houses,
filling trees.
The distant odor,
the fresh world
burning in all the dark places
we have passed through.
sky’s earth,
all the grandmothers and fathers
underground.
Their song goes on
rushing
light
to fill the distance.