Blind Man, Deaf Man

“Listen to the storm,”
cries the blind man.
The wind is a demon
that howls in a language
no one understands.

“See the storm,”
signs the deaf man.
Clouds on clouds: a tower to heaven,
inscribed on all sides
with the poetry of lightning.

I fall back to Earth,
crippled by
an angel’s touch.
Limping down the flooded street,
my feet are soaked;
my hands are numb.

I look and listen skyward,
but the rain drowns all sight and sound.
I insist I am not blind or deaf,
and yet, sometimes I am both.