Conductor

When it comes down, it comes down 
Out of the dark heart of the nimbus
I can never see it coming,
Until I can see nothing else.

It finds my outstretched fingers
Travels down my reaching arms
To turn my bones to filaments
And makes my heart to burn.

I should be obliterated
Made so mortal a conductor
Of so furious a light
But he grounded me before he struck

And being struck, I glow.

---

Mike Bonikowsky
Poet & Personal Support Worker

Photography by Eric Benjamin Ham