Rag-gray sky, seeming
less aftermath than omen
with no horizon.

Willow stooping low,
storm-sodden. Stubborn drops cling
like unspoken thoughts.

Wild wheat seaweed-slick,
aligned like iron filings,
briskly brushed tresses.

The rain-steeped rampant
surcharged Earth, chastened magnet
scooping us along.

Ancient Cloud-Beard, hold
your ire, establish stillness
sudden as thunder.

Charlie B. is an emergency room nurse in the Ozarks, where sometimes in late spring the only silence is the “silence amid storms.”