the wind's blown stars to powder in the sky's blue

so the morning's pale and clear, soft as breath,

those are storms' leavings,

these horizons swept clean.

we fill, we empty

we connect and retract

and sometimes each dream, every cell

has you in it.

i've had it both ways, been the rock, been its hollow

(dreaming of light and translucence

dreaming of sleep and its darkness)

and when the wind woke me, i saw you there blowing

and the clouds filled my vision

and my eyes lost the sun.

when the wind soothed me, my skin felt your hands,

a soft rain on dust, settling.

we fill, we empty

we blame and forgive

and the storms unloose rocks,

not a window survives.

my brother heard thunder, shale cliffs exploding

(a desert child knows how a deluge begins.)

we'd run open windows as the doors slammed around us

and the rooms filled with hurricanes

and our bodies were lungs.

i tell other storms stories, of you, of us,

we fill, yes, we empty

we trust and suspect

and sometimes, clear mornings,

we wake lost and smiling

that night wind downed trees.

hail studs asphalt, the sky's shards.

and us? we're apocalypse, all big bang and thunder.

and then we're this quiet, this thick dust, this silence

we're this bare sky

this vision

this breath.