Cloud crosses, heavy,
Blackened underneath:
Too-long seared meat,
Mid trails of steaming sky
A ricochet of light cracks,
Bleeding out the bath,
And I've fallen to my side
At strike on Thor's behalf.
Watching man's face drawn,
Eyes wide - he gapes,
Ghost seen, perhaps?
Or just a tragically mishapped,
Un-finished bolt of
Would have,
Could have,
Should have been.
That missed its beating mark,
And left a flesh-shell whole,
Though smitten to the ground,
And rolled past.
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