July afternoons

1.

God stays happy by not holding
Onto heavy thoughts.

Thirty minutes into snarled traffic on I-81.
Twenty feet above us. One white egret.

A flag across the dark gray sky.

2.

A dozen swallows scry the squeezed space
Between roof and rain clouds.

Later, we walked up the street
To see fireworks rise, explode,

Penetrate into clouds which shimmered
For a moment like they’d been told

A secret they weren’t ready to tell.

3.

The lightning shot through the house
Like the bead on the line on the monitor

Of a flatlining patient. In through the back porch’s
Sliding glass window and out the glass front door.

A moment later the house shook with sound,
Twice, as if God had a sudden thought

Too heavy to hold onto, then another.