Judgment Day
There will come a cast iron rain
in brown paper sackfuls
carried by frail, dark men
who never share your eye.
And when that day comes,
the skies will tremble,
smiling into hairline cracks
at the seams, awaiting
the drum of an enormous
wooden spoon, old
as Grandfather Mountain
and nimble as time
leaping like a cut-glass trout
in your still, hazel stream.
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