Peter Adamson

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Night storm

 

Umbrian clouds over Umbrian hills, galleons
of emptiness bullying from obscure heights,
forests of oak protesting, shifting, flinching
from lightning’s pain,
while under the storm the loosened spirit
leaps, freed from torpor, rejoicing
in that which had been lost in tameness,
sipping anew the fresh, brute danger of the night.

 


 

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