The Lightning

By Joseph Hesch

When the lightning strikes —
that is, the figurative flash
whose true name would, rhyming,
complete the limp line:
“Like a shove from above
she alit like a dove,
my sweetest … ”
You get the picture.
When that electro-chemical brew fires,
even the steel-hardened among us
melt at our cores.
The shade of amnesia
pales even the brightest white
thermite glare to the flickering flame
of a single candle, teasing
the almost-illumination of
our shadowed, now-flown angel.
At that millisecond of
comforting blindness,
we welcome the truth:
lightning indeed strikes
maybe hotter, maybe harder,

in the same heart twice.


5 thoughts on “The Lightning

  1. It's like getting hit over the head with a baseball bat when you're not looking…only strikes like lightningwaves of electricityglowing in your skies 🙂

  2. Holy Holy! I love that: completing the limp line. Ahhh…like the staff of Moses…rod straight…and then a snake…and a staff again. You wonder if the firmness of our line is always penned by another. True name. There is no alphabet with which to spell it.

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