The terrible sky is
the underside of God’s ashtray:
Full and dirty.
The rain is
the ashes of His marvelous cigar:
earthy and full
(subtle hints of
leather and cinnamon).
The lightning is
His ash: aflame.
He enjoyed the complex flavors of His flaming piece of art
while He sat, exhausted, but not tired,
with His bare feet up on the world
and drew into His mouth
(the Holy Place where life originated)
The thunders of life and death
as He solemnly observed the first Sabbath.