interpreting signals

waiting
the clouds are grey
massing above us
filling the horizon
away to the west

lightning
untranslated semaphore
is sending messages
of what the heavens have in store

if only I
could understand them
the signals flying all around me
in the telegraph line
that is the air

but I am blind
I cannot see them
I am deaf
I cannot hear
illiterate
I cannot read the portent
of what the storm-front has said

so
I wait here
with those few senses
that I own
open to the sky
waiting for the weather to show
with a kiss on my skin
from the wind
with a wet touch
fallen from a droplet
of rain

I am waiting

the clouds
away in the west
are grey

---

© Frank Prem, 2016

Poem #31: I on solid ground

21/01/18