Toast To a Thunderstorm

To the white fire that dies With the same breath it begun The serrated vein that hides In sleeves of night; it's sudden sun To the far arguments of sky quakes That roll and crash in high surf Raging: their formless posture breaks And wakes, a sleeping earth To the riven statues of cloud That for a moment bear the bloom Of the raw and silvered, and the loud And then it's over Over too soon