All night the black rain soaked my body.
I could not get up.
The lightning zigzagged through my brain.
I listened at the wall, where voices
indistinctly begged for their brief lives.
I tried to shout, but words like arrows
fell into the grass short of their target.
I could smell the bacon fat downstairs,
the dirty laundry in the wicker basket.
I could hear the little ones, upset.
The village idiot was at the door.
The fire department wanted me to dress
and join the company around the fire.
The armies of the night, like frenzied beetles,
marched on cities. Ants assembled
in a long red line, prepared to follow.
I could not get up.