with no fury, only hunger. I strike
the clothes left out to dry, beat rain
from waterlogged pleats. overheard:
a woman longs to leave the city’s dark.
lightning clears the soot above and all her veins
are mapped out in the moonlight, O [      ].

she is a wavering, beating thing, O [      ],
she calls out, [      ] answers; another soundless strike.
her body warbles in the brief gleam, until her veins
are hidden again; unseen once rain
heralds in the smog, heralds in the dark.
a woman will always long for light. overheard:

‘where has [      ] left to?’ overheard:
a girl, dressed in bright blue, cries to [      ]
and her mother at the walls of the city, her dark
hair sputters in the wind, soft strikes
landing on the brick behind them like rain,
[      ] is closer to them than their jugular veins.

O [      ], this water returns to the ocean in veins,
and I long for any doubt to still. overheard:
‘we wait for [      ] like we wait for rain’
or [      ] waits for us like we wait for [      ]
or we wait for [      ] like [      ] waits to strike.
patience quivers in the dark

and my teeth are stronger in the dark
and [      ] has no teeth and no veins
but [      ] can bite and burst and strike
and erupt, haemorrhagic and volcanic. overheard:
‘I was younger, unsure of [      ].
I was younger, unstruck by hope, nor fear, nor rain’.

a lightning strike ceases the dark.
the rain desists – a cauterised vein.
overheard: ‘tell me about the thunderous sound of [      ].’