Thunder crackles in the distance
Sounding like a voice from outer space.
He’s brought his brother, Lightening,
Apparently to scare away the rain
It plays steadily all the same,
A blue beat on the double pane.
Far from ruining the night,
This rhythm forms its lyric
Projecting it across a dusty heaven, where
Lightening & thunder entertain with flare
Till . . . Daaat . . . daaat . . . . . . daaa . . .
My heart slows as it slows . . .
and my breath following suit,
Obeying another conductor
leagues beyond my mind.
Between the infrequent drops,
I wonder if it will stop.
Then suddenly it begins pommeling the panes again
Playing forcefully from some brilliant, yet secret, score.
What a delightfully musical universe,
recording freely on my window pane!
When it plays, you feel you are
physically in this world, yet psychically set apart.
Alternately frightened and comforted,
I will myself to lay silent and still,
Suffused with the romance of this impromptu hymn.
Hadn’t it been a night like this
when Offenbach sailed in his double-bass —
weaving through Paris’ flooded streets,
avowing music — and only music — as his religion?