Moment of Glory
When winter's morning blaze divides the trees,
fans out to lock its fingers with the pines
a giant wakes; eclipsing boundaries
his shape is stretched, poured jaggedly in lines.
Now vaulting splintered deltas with each stride
he snickers at the puny, distant strain
of frantic tawny herds that whirling glide
and curling crackle on the sunken plain.
In silhouette, a demigod prevails:
his wave blots dwellings, madly slaking fire,
a shadow's shroud; that mighty boulder quails,
its bright face spider-blackened by his ire.
A sudden gust, and cloaking clouds restore
to mortal size, a demigod no more.