Odds Are All the Aegis You’ve Got Left

Goat-skinned thunderheads snaky with lightning
Arch over you as if in protection,
The way divinities and good omens
Were imagined ahead of destruction,
Gigantic compared to your skeleton
That nevertheless, with its porcelain skull
Busy doing all this imagining,
Knows the storm, including its violence
Is ordinary, will tumble around,
A minor vortex in the atmosphere,
Just to break up over the horizon.
And you’ll still be here. Odds are, you’ll be left,
Still alive under reopening skies,
Until next time you should be scared. Next time.