It began as
lightening
up there
where it
cleared a ridge,
bridged,
flew,
until
it entered you,
coming down
into the crown
of your head,
a fire
burning
through you,
pouring
from your right arm.
The strike
erased an alphabet,
charred skin,
continued into
the earth,
coursed up through
roots
to kill a tree,
entirely
turned it to coal.
You,
the sole survivor,
were told
you stood surrounded by
a horse, a dog, a cat,
that lay on their sides,
black
as crows.
They didn't know what hit them,
where they went,
one minute aware,
another spent.
But you also
were
slate wiped, erased,
rushed away from your fields
into years
of revolutions.
If you learned something,
if you were taught
while lit
it's naught now,
never persisted.
Yet you who
existed before
also ended.
What are you now?
You see yourself
as an interstice,
through which
you
glimpse
the finite,an aftermath.
