It takes a poet
to just know it..
know what?
The growling rumble
of a rolling thunder,
rippling through
episodic memory,
echoic.

Indeed,
an echo of a light
that is already gone..
A melody, stuck
in God’s mind
as after-silence
of our song.

But why does it
take a poet
to just know it?
My disciple,
can’t you see?

The words
resounding
through you
now are echoes,
merely..
But The One
who sees
the lightning
also hears
the ripest of them,
first and clearly.