Beauty looks away. The sky spits
open; the nickel-plated sound
of it destroys the peepers’ din.

Bats, hummingbirds, grey moths
heave blindly side by side, slide
by each other in this relentless sea.

With every battering blink
of lightning, Zeus the Abuser smoothly
apologizes before the hit.

The animals scatter ‒ break up
their huddles, search
for a safe house, the dry place.

Dragonflies drown in this surge.
In the rafters of the barn some
find their way.

The morning, slight with hope.
It teems with a low drone of mercy,
nature-winged, captive, flightless.

Each Degraded Angel, a slug
upturned at dawn, bluntly probes
for beauty. A road back in.