My daytime is spent assessing damage control from the mayhem, force, and devastation of you.

You are my natural disaster and I can get no aid or relief.

How can I?

You are the frenetic funnel cloud that relentlessly appears out of nowhere on a serene summer day, the vortex that upends any resistance in its path.

And I am the isolated lover, somehow still  left standing,  locked in a constant struggle with the power of your nature.

The best I can hope for is to stem my erosion.

But then night comes and the whirling, swirling energy that surrounds you suddenly stops. 

Just like that, it ceases.

You are such a different phenomenon when you sleep – peaceful, ethereal – a body of motion finally at rest.

And  the glow of electrically-charged particles eases off your skin and enters the evening,  a sacred nightlight meant only for me.

And the echo of creation haunts your breath, thickening  the sound into metered respiration, a whisper of trust meant only for me.

You are my natural disaster and the eye of your whirlwind is worth any damage.

Copyright 2010

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