Ten, three, and four.
The shadows shift,
their mood uncertain.
Calm in the heralding of the day,
hints at a still creeping tension.
Stretched thin,
snapped taut,
tuned in,
ready for the maestro.
The groan
of the orchestral pit
before the curtain rises.
Seats full,
curious spirits
gather in to see
what the light has gathered,
and what frequency
it my intone.
Give it a little push,
then pull it back.
Hot as it wants to be,
then smashed
into a frigid bath.
Seafoam shores
steaming in explosion,
as the volcano
makes new land.
Hear the spirits clap.
DJR – 2023
