A Voice Like Thunder[1]
In the heat reduced by the shadow of a cloud,
past homes-turned-rubble you’ll find the place
that darkness covers like a shroud.
A dozen drowned here. Rain turned river ploughed
down this street like a bull at breakneck pace
in the heat reduced by the shadow of a cloud.
With its horns, the river, rushing and loud,
tossed men beneath this tunnel, a space
that darkness covers like a shroud.
In this desert wasteland of dust, how’d
anyone expect to be drowned or displaced
in this heat, reduced by the shadow of a mere cloud?
Eyes closed, we built houses on sand. We allowed
no warning voice to relocate that base.
Our self-made darkness covers like a shroud.
Groaning thunder meant little. We were too proud
to hear the birth pangs, to watch and to brace.
In the heat reduced by the shadow of a cloud,
how great is that darkness that covers like a shroud.
