Poem 27, June 27

Awakened by the Storm


I close my eyes.

I look up slightly,

first left

& then right.


At first I only see

an orange glow like sunrise

or sunset,

but the color recedes.


I wonder whether

my process is the one

prophets used

to write their words.


I squint

like I do to adjust

my astigmatism

& all colors blend.


Suddenly, I’m not looking for a poem.

I’m searching for the


but I fall asleep before she comes to me.


I should have settled

for the word,

sometimes any word

will do.