The Storm Poem by Eric Cockrell

I am the storm,
And the stillness
That follows.
The branch torn
From the tree.
The trill of the birds,
The nest abandoned.
Tiny prints in the dirt.

I am the shout,
The distance and
The echo.
The damp spot on
The borrowed thought.
I am the horn,
The axe handle,
And the wagon.
I am the tongue
That climbs the trellis.

I am the shadow
Beneath your eyes.
The broken things
That form your lips.
The taste of your dreams,
And your common expanse.
The scent of your longing,
Drowning the night.

I am the storm,
You are the body!
And fire trembles
At your gates!