Our house looks out upon a lake
facing northwest some fifty miles
southeast of Lake Superior.

Which means our storms throughout the year
can be seen long before arriving,
rising in clouds like mountain ranges.

I sit along our shoreline watching
these storm fronts move and split and change
to every color, every form. 

I take a book; it might be hours
until the weather will arrive.
And yet I find I can’t read long

because I’d rather read the sky
whose author writes: Just take your time
and watch. Now talk to me. I’m here.