The lightning had been flashing through the window,
like some angry goddess. . .
angry at my being in this room, at this hour.
The shadows played for dim seconds on the walls,
happy to have been given a little longer, in those few flashes
every few moments.
And the angel lay upon the bed, tucked under sheets warm and soft,
eyes shut, lips dry and faintly smiling,
with skin that appeared gray in that lightning that entered.
"Please, lightning," I said to the window, "come again.
Yes, come again and again, so I may see this face, this angel.
For. . .I wish to feel her skin."
And I thought I heard the thunder answer, bellowing, booming, "The
candle." And, there it was: a candle beside the bed. When it was lit, the
flame danced for a moment, then was still.
And now, now that I could see the face all at once,
and for more than two seconds at a time, I grew bored.
I could not look at this beautiful face, without touching it.
Her hair lay pale-golden on a pillow that looked heavy and soft as her
head. I saw her eyes, and with my finger touched her cheek. It brought
warmth, and when I withdrew, my hand become cold, and I longed for the
warmth again.
And I caressed the locks of hair past her ear, and watched her as she
dreamed. The rain sounded like the tears that I had cried, those nights
before now. The candle gave off a different light than the storm.
A sudden thunderclap brought awareness to eyes that were blue.
They were not wide, and her lips did not tremble.
She looked at me as my fingers ceased their movement, and backed away.
"I'm sorry," I managed to say.
"What were you doing?" she asked. (She sounded like a bird.)
"I. . .I wanted to touch your face. I'm sorry. I'll stop."
"No," she said firmly. "Your hand woke me, now let it put me back to
sleep." She touched my hand and resumed her breathing. . .I was the last
thing her eyes saw that night. My fingers found themselves moving again.
And so that night, by the light of a vanilla candle,
I whispered a soul to sleep amidst the laughter of the storm.
A soul that had awakened not by fear, not by lightning, not by thunder.
Poem © 2000 Russell Moore, all rights reserved
