Panning these cloudy skies for lightening.
They’re Impossible, bright & frightening.
Rain & sand flow from rocker-box under.
The shine left on my screen; loud as thunder.
I pick out the nuggets & lock them up.
I separate glitter from cup to cup.
What’s leftover is sand iridescent…
For tiny hands in the poorest crescent.
It’s never a gold rush I chase to mine.
Just impregnated clouds with lights divine.

