Evening Storm

by Max Ryan

Fom Rainswayed Night

The storm has found us now.
Black limbs of banksia
splay across our tent,
flung up on lightning’s lash.

You and I are here inside,
a candle flame between us.
Listen, out on the ridge
the wail of she–oaks
thrums the wind’s long strings.

On the beach below, the ocean
folds an octave down
in caverns of rolling thunder.

A candle flame, cool static
of your skin, your face,
your flickering hair.

The deep chord of our limbs,
the rain, the sway of the tide.
The one cry between us
and your breath breaks into mine.

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