I rubbed my eyes. The lightning 
Caught a curving line 
Of tents and lost them. Under 
Drowned boughs that thrashed the air, 
I heard a double thunder 
Over a forest of rain. 
Even now, I share 
The lives of two that went, 
Pinned in their canvas house; 
A bole lies across the tent,
And a nest of splintered boughs.

The storm begins to drop 
And looks now with an eye 
Of winter on wet twigs,
Topless and stripped trees 
Like a row of wooden legs. 
Last night, when I rose up,
Lightning could magnify 
My apprehension: these 
Remain one glinting day,
Day after day, when night 
Seems far. Beside its prey,
The wide trunk’s fallen height

Forced me back. But morning,
Glistening and slate-gray,
With muted sunlight thrown 
From masking clouds, climbs over 
The half-dark earth, dark stone,