I woke this morning
 before dawn
In the deep
 quiet of the night.

A gentle breeze was telling me
 "Go back to sleep"

But I was restless.

I rose thirsty, thinking of water
 but found myself walking
Past the kitchen,
 to the back hall.

I put on my sandals and left.

Walking east, I marveled
 at the brightness of the Morning Star
"Phosphorus" you had called it once;
 it seemed to draw me on.

Ahead, a low-noise was rising.

Should have seen it coming,
 should have known it.
The sound wall,
 the wailing water.

The power of it shocked me.

Still air and clear sky above
 had belied the lake's anger.

Sailboats rocked,
 uneasy in their moorings,
Waves wrecked themselves
 merciless against the break.

Then, a muted flash of lightning,
 and for the first time I saw
Long thin lines of storm clouds,
 black baguettes crouched low to the horizon.

I stood and wondered
 at the storm's wordless intensity

Reaching out to me

Through the water,
Through the shore,
Through the city streets,
Through my slumber.

I came down to the water's edge this morning,
 before the sunrise,
To listen to it speak of things far distant

While the city slept.