A Storm Normally

The wind is rising a
dead        leaf
clacks around the
courtyard great
surges of wind pass
through the branches of
conifers the sky
darkens           the air still warm
and the world system
surges             olive-tree leaves turn
this way or that
pale and then dark
lightning punches down
from a Michelangelo cloud far
over the Ardeche mountains
blindingly clear
remote but near and silent
like the money markets
all in suspension
the very air smells
different the cats
mewing for food (in case) close
the shutters prepare
for a storm which
may not come
give love to your dearest              and

turn on the lights