Playing around with weather

A work in progress first draft and unfinished taken from the summer spent in Emporia, KS

No woman/man
can walk out of the atmospheric river
by themselves,
especially at 5:00 PM
when the wind shifts from southwest
to northeast.
Charnel smell of slaughterhouses,
gagging on memories of cauterized blood
Miasma of death
tinting skies coppery
with bruising green clouds
(White sunlight being scattered by big hail stones)

that hiss, boil, bleed hail, rain, wind.
A dry line encounter:
where East meets West
Where moist meets dry.
the passion of death
in a dance in the wind-
a stalking of 2X4 impaled on a tree:
crucifixion of windmills.

Your death hung
there-chained with our sins
like the cross around my neck.
The down drafts and wind shear
of sin suck my life away
I need your vortex of salvation.

No southwest corner of the basement will save me.
I have no Doppler radar.
I am no storm chaser.
I can't make it mine by myself

I live in a slaughterhouse of sin.
Death is the only outcome of this storm
of my life.
But the breath that comforts,
gently calls my name
in the silence after the storm ...
when I realize relief of birds chirping
in a fallen creation.

The resurrection
gives life to destruction and debris
that is my life.
The blood not burnt
the body not charred
the water
a down pour of grace.

colors refracting light
in an atmospheric river
flows...