For Cynthia, Rio Caliente October 1996
Late afternoons there rage with storms:
The wild hills dance in waves of blaze.
Electric laughter stuns the air
And shorts the strings of man-made light.
Our darkened village huddles down
Within the river’s steaming arm.
Like lanterns, fires in every hearth
Make safely sure of warmth and glow.
The shapes of women, radiant, pose
In robes that draw them down to sleep.
A thunder shudders quiet beds,
Yet no fear knocks in peaceful hearts.