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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.
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