child

I was born
in the thunder

birthed
to the whip
of the wind

my father was known
as the weather

a cloud
was my mother

the womb

and I would ride
-saddled-
the storm

bucking the blitz strikes
of lightning

raining on earth
down below

I am cumulous
I am cirrus
I am the feather
contrail
of the sky

and I laugh
at the fury of tempest
because I
was the child
of wild weather
and I
dance the cyclone
that spins

I know the name
of each raindrop
and I kiss
each one
as it falls

I wait
patient
until it rises again
in mist
as a ghost
as my friend

I am the child
of wild weather

in the weird light
in a deep voice
I sing

---

© Frank Prem, 2017

December 2017 Poem #01: spring creek small walk: whispering secrets (that you want to know)