righteous are those who burn a controlled fire

i’m not so
immediately accustomed
to sitting behind
a large window
overlooking
a small street.

i’m not yet
presently acclimated
to the church parking lot
just across the small street,
the sunday stream
of pious cars.

the clouds are
thick and low.
the rain is
persistent and
intermittently ripened
to hail.

it roars down on our dwellings.

i look down at
my book,
my computer screen,
my hands, and
catch a blur of motion
in my periphery.
looking up
i see another car.
looking up
i see still the rain.

i look down
again towards
my lap.
again again
a blur of movement.
and looking up, looking
up, looking
up.