The air is moist in the dark before morn.
Clouds gather above, but the fog's not yet in.
And in that seething tower of vapor,
Silent lightning strikes and I think of her.
Naught stirs the stillness; no rain dares to fall.
Deep within the lifeless quiet, she calls.
As the wind passes, through empty spaces,
Her soft, hollow song through my heart races.
She is my yearning; she is the absence
I taste in the bitterness of substance.
The sky looms large and light flashes above;
No thunder reverbs like the throes of love.
Only the dew which gathers on my skin
Reminds me I once felt, and may again.