Storm sheets darken horizon’s edge,
smudging charcoal on graphite clouds.
Scattered rain pokes poxes on low-tide sand.
Winds whip white caps as sand
blasts gutters and balcony railings.
A gull rows headwind several yards
from my condo porch.
I see colossal wall clouds flashing,
smothering a few blue dabs.
I ponder my damp prayer list:
Joe—addiction hooking his brain . . .
Jan—cancer migrating from a lymph node . . .
twelve souls at work shot dead and
their beloveds with them . . . the plague . . .
faster than thought
through wind, surf roar,
pummeling rain, I see
each prayer winging
through raven clouds
toward the Father’s
heart.
