Michael Damian

From horizon to horizon

a strange noise is bounding.

Thunder, it is thunder you say,

for you are older now, you know

the name of this sound.

Rain has been coming steady

while you sleep, surrounded

by your dream.

Think you that you know

what thunder is, and rain,

because you have names?

Yet you can hardly say what it means

to wake in the night and listen,

suddenly so nakedly alone

in your senses,

rapt beyond all reason.

You kn...

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