Night and the Tornado

by James B. Nicola

A tornado will be more destructive but
in the long run Night can be/has been/is crueler.

A tornado dies so that one might rebuild;
but Night retreats only to return
reminding me of one day’s tornado

and that you were not here last night, are not
tonight, nor will be here tomorrow night.

The lights of night—moons, half the time;
stars, when the skies aren’t overcast; and neon—
help me to forget the storm, some nights,
but not you. And when I sight a new star,
or pass a favorite spot that we once knew,
a madness, bittersweet but gentle as
the blanket of night, seems to fold me in
its counterpane with Love’s imagination.

When the comet came, that year after
the storm, I couldn’t help but love the thing
and give it a name, night after night. Your name.

And when the weather tells of a tornado
somewhere, no matter how far it may be,
I send out prayers to all the future stars.