Thundersnow, 16 March 2018

Around midnight, a few rumbles and flashes
Just as the rain changed over to wet snow.
Perhaps you have lived your life somewhere
Where this is impossible or almost common.
In this life’s composition, merely rare. Rare
Has been common in this life. In this life,
A great many things have been neither
Common nor impossible, only rare. Defying
The odds in preferable fashion, for instance,
Has been rare. Days when something worth
Reconsidering the nature of one’s existence
Has occurred have been rare. All rare events
Compiled together have remained, each
By each, rare, which is the common state
Of rarity here. Bone tired at the close
Of another bodily day has never been rare,
So body rears up on elbows and tilts a head,
Not to miss the rare flash of lightning
Greenishly illuminating the common flakes.
There is a world where all is common except
The rare, where hardly any coincidence is
Ever unexpected in the lightning-haunted air.