storm coming

Perhaps one morning walking in dry glassy air,

 

I will turn, I will see the miracle complete:

 

nothingness at my shoulder, the void behind,

 

me with a drunkard’s terror.

 

 

Then, as on a screen, trees houses hills

 

will advance swiftly in familiar illusion,

 

But it will be too late . . .

 

--Eugenio Montale

Done