my window
knocking to be let in and bring the dance hall
of strobe and bass into my door.
Rain adds its own muted cacophony to the mix
like drum brushes in a jazzy electric number.
or is it giants playing field games in
lands we cannot see?
Their friday-night-lights filtering into our lands?
This concert hall of mountains reflecting light
and sound
back and back and back again
building
crescendoing
deceasing
and doubling around for more
The backdraft wind chasing the tail of the
flashy
noisy monster
over the pass in the mountains
to the flatlanders that live beyond.
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