Chris

Lightning cleaves the sky
flashes orange against endless blue.
We drive too fast,
corners wrench our bodies.
Minds and hearts numb,
stomachs tight,
tied in knots,
we are not ready.
Will never be ready.
The air thick with moisture
chokes us,
forces us to swallow hot humidity
with each shallow breath.
It smells of rain
and fresh hay.
Souls dissolve in this mist.
A dive team went in at 2:30.
We steel ourselves;
we are metal hard shiny unbreakable.
Braced for impact,
we hurtle,
eyes squinted hearts breaking.
The moon is dull;
the dark falls like a curtain
black thick and blinding velvet.
Pollen floats as voices mingle,
organizing the external chaos,
while we grope in our mental darkness.
There are no stars.
The lake is eerily calm
and so flat pancake flat and
it is so very dark and
it smells of hay.

-5/22/2013