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coruscating thunder rolls across an eggplant sky
magenta lightning throws the silhouettes
of maple trees to borderline relief
no more will I deplete reserves
or segregate voluptuous from shrewd
to please the sad voyeurs and harsher prudes
and just when I’m deciding how to easily
acclimatize, a second front arrives
with bayonets and tridents, some alliance,
I suspect, of Thor and great Poseidon
pressing north to south like paddles
to resuscitate the heart, this is the fresh new
start of something I’d imagined from the cradle
now enriched with elements more stable
and those loiterers I used to think incapable
if not for me by thunderbolts have all been
goosed, set loose to find and disentangle
their own brambled disenchantments
while the storm fronts opened here
for business shower leaflets stating
moribund and glum prohibited
begone the lazy state of grave!
~~~
© Elaine Stirling, 2014
Image from Toronto Life
Oceantics 
I have the sense these words are storms to be PERFORMED in town squares their sound coruscating throughout the ages, initiating a subtle trigger for all in hearing distance. I imagine, once set off, the clearing of personal and collective landscapes occurs in all time, space and dimension.
(You’ve jumpstarted my infatuation with the word coruscate!)
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Can’t tell you how much I appreciate your seeing the dimensionality of this poem, Bridge. I’d never used the word “coruscate”, and the full first line of the poem came to me in the height of the first storm front two nights ago. I quickly jotted the line down, then ran off to look up the word…it was somehow the exact sound, quality, and rhythm of the thunder.
The rest of the poem came from the storm too–much like, I imagine, the fiery verses you’ve written these past weeks. Taking dictation from Nature is the best!
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