Storm and Beech

There a stand, a cluster
 here a river barely clad
 the remnant moraine as sensuous
 as a woman in lingerie

Took off our shoes and felt the trickle
 Looked west to the dry brush of Alps
 rendered in a stroke of cobalt
 until the storm gathered
 framing it to a fearsome smudge of ultramarine
 How can something so distant
 be so terrifying?
 
Here a momentary return and the taste of coffee
 cream and raw sugar crystals
 like a hoard for dragons the size of mosquitos
 To the copse of Beech and find
All the water in the world
Our stony beaches flooded
 By storms too far away to taste or feel