Summer Lightninglisten

Tempered through the backdoor screen, the air,
metallic, saturated, flows as cold
as water from a mountain lake. The old
tympanic battle roll precedes the flare
of lightning and the flat-out thunder slam
as rain sweeps in. It splashes at our knees
in light refracted from the clouds and trees,
a yellow-green illuminated dam

that breaks, evaporates into a flame,
subliminal, an X-ray of the dead,
the vine-entangled apple tree, the flight
of rapture through exploding air. Itís said
that in the end we navigate this same
catastrophe of metal into light.

by Rick Mullin

Photo by James Hannibal Copyright 2006


Rick Mullin is a journalist and painter whose poetry has appeared in several print and online journals including The New Formalist, Contemporary Sonnet, The Umbrella and Relief. He lives in northern New Jersey .

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