when we lean back against the
overpass railing, collect raindrops
on our fingers and name children
never to be born. engage in
arguments with green lightning.
your obsession with electricity.
your love of atmospheric
molecules hellbent in disarray.
that connect us as diesels blow
by below in a rush of petroleum
wind. we load our pockets with
static flame. fall weightless
into forty years from now and
a remembrance of thunder’s
haunted soliloquy.
