Deah Caldwell Poetry

He was mesmerized by her–
the most exquisite natural disaster
he’d ever seen.
But he knew he would drown.

Like when she walked, waters parted.

But, she didn’t conjure the wind,
nor lift palms to make the seas rise.
She was no maestro,
though she could hear the songs the earth sang.

He watched her from afar,
whispering under his breath,
“You’ve stolen my attention.
I must wait until the storm has died,
but my eye is on you.”

With an eyebrow raised and smirk,
she replied,
“I am the eye and the storm.”