Lightening
And the house shudders and sobs
Drips from every edge
Asks the sky how it is possible
Why the rain strips the roofing bare of insulating dust
Seeps into old cracks and scours the surface in new ways
Why the concave angles, so striking and angular in the afternoon light
Wood and ceramic tile built to endure heat and light
Are asked to be channels for water
In the morning
Steam rises from red tiles
From the eastern desert
A warm wind has infused the air with creosote bush
Echoing the storm
But sweetly
.
