the first close tremor,
the pond shivering

at the height of summer,
the field full-blown, going to seed.

But this storm scares me.
A foreign climate occupies the land.

When nature was God, in my childhood,
I was not afraid. Snow buried the town.

The river flooded it.
Lightning set the woods on fire.

In months the damage bandaged itself
with mosses and ferns, or got rebuilt.

This storm comes from another part
of the world, here by mistake,

its rain blistering the birch leaves.
Has it been weaponized?

No one knows what to expect
of a storm with human parents.