Anvil Turbulence

Today the clouds are distant palaces
with alabaster domes and marble walls
of swirled grey. No floors. The chalices
of rain are carried down the sloping halls
by angels poised to some true vertical
on arbitrary levels. Under vaults
of moisture dangerous with electrical
discharge, they polish steel lightning bolts
and glassy drops of hail. They ballroom-waltz
through three dimensions, rise-and-fall gavotte
around the floating thunder-catapaults.
These storm-attending Terpsichores are not
confined to pinheads. Anvil turbulence
is where you go to find if angels dance.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside