weather from the north
ray heinrich
rocks
cliffs
morning breaks
with the waves white
the sky empty
waiting
for weather from the north
the last of a bright sun
followed by years of cloud
horizon to horizon
a gray cotton sheath
a dressing for a wound
the voices
the wind
the notes filled
the baritone waves
the chorus
the seabirds
the last of the sun
the bulb of the planet
it’s fragile glass
sucked of air
evacuated
the sea boils
the birds explode
the rocks are
as they always are
the rocks survive
even the giants feet
the deep sounds
of their footsteps
of drums
slowly marching
with sabers and axes and
whatever else is needed
to render flesh to useful things
like soap and leather
as the giants of wicker
filled with men and women
start to burn
and men and women
watching from
the cliffs
the sea
are listening
to their cries
confusing them
with seabirds
and with children
changing them to music
only music
as the voices sing again
welcoming the clouds this time
welcoming the blanket
made of smoke
and silence
