From the Roof

Huge clouds like thugs

bruised the sky (already red and 

raw at the seams), smothered all the stars.

Rain marched up through 

the parking lot till the front ranks

hit the church, cracking loud and hard.

From the roof we watched as

light burned vivid and curled electric, 

transient, like a glimpse of 
some seraph's wild hair.

The hot wind stuttered and

someone was calling glory, glory,

enough to fill the pulsing earth 

with thunder.