Something suspect in the light turns
thunderous, and then a wind gets up
among the cherry boughs and blows
a scurry of pink blossom out
across the car-park’s tar to run
in torrents at the pavement’s edge;
and as Blake heard Isaiah say
he saw no God and yet his senses
found the infinite in everything,
so, like a cut-throat razor stropped
along the sky, the lightning speaks,
and thunder breaks its silence over Frome.
Lindsay Clarke
Picture Nick Victor