I want to tell you something.

A memory surfaced this morning,
coming in through the western window,
as the sunlight that binds us
slowly consumed
the moonlight that hides us.

A long time ago,
I was out in the pasture,
standing in the fading summer light,
herd of horses far afield.

The anvil cloud in full electric bloom,
singing deep the distant vibrations—
the ones you can 

feel 

in your chest.

You know what I mean.

That night the air was still thick and hot
over the high country.

The sun sinking
like a sacred oath.

The charge of potential floating
over the tall grass, the cactus, 
the yucca and sage,

every creature 
above the ground, under the sky.
All of us together in the fading summer light.

And the storm moved in,
and I did not blink.

Near a lone piece of rock,
I saw

lightning

          strike

                    twice.