Tornado

When white sunlight

hits hail, scatters

the narrow beams

of light,

they plank the sky

in hues of eerie yellow.

Ping-

ponging

off each other-

a game of pinball,

igniting lights

with each slam.

In that engulfing gloom,

the bruised sky,

full of broken veins

of light,

pool

into violently spinning air.

The fat finger of death

curls its way to dirt-

wedging itself downward.

Mesmerized

by power flashes,

I strain to glimpse

the finger of God.

In that frozen

moment-

thoughts on internet

waves,

Doppler Radar

pinging velocity

across the plains,

I see where the blue turns to black,

and roars to silence.

The neutrality of Space,

inert,

a vacuum

that is you.

I am gravity,

spiraling earthward-

an ice ball,

burning up

in atmospheric divergence.

Face planted to fears,

grounded in a crater

of my own making.

In your silence I stand…

watching the approaching supercell.

It surges forward in darkness,

wrapped in rain,

cloaked

from sight.

I await the ending-

the surrender,

debris swirling

to the West,

my pieces-

scattered-

landing in someone’s front yard…