Thunder’s Ghost
By peace and obscuring walls,
by field and forest halls,
by silence of a sacred type;
your voice, lost in the muskeg,
calms the building squall.
Your breath, in the morning,
leaves me low beneath the weight of oceans.
Your heart, a heavy Albertan sky,
that hides me under stone and loam and silent water.
Yesterday, in the rain, we were
the low sky and the earth,
eager for the touch of current.
Today, the storm, unbroken, passed
and we, by token, formed of stone,
deny the thunder’s ghost.
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