NaPoWriMo Day 7

As far as I know, there was no extremely violent storm in Boston at the time of that conversation, but what do I care, I'm a poet |V . The title is the last line.

here,
invisible arcs of the sun
create brilliant blue auroras
softly dancing on this polar platform
although a few
softer greens
move quietly and deliberately
for hours on end.

beneath,
the red echo of sprites and elves
leaps up in finger-shaped branches
for a fifty-mile long
hand shake.

past,
blue jets from cloudtops
and the invisible tension
of a million raindrops
nervous over gained weight.

under,
an onslaught
of falling bodies
unites with ceilings, concrete,
dirt, rivers, upward palms

a telegraph operator
with no batteries
asks
“How do you see my writing?”

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