Bunk-Bed Thunderstorm (Poem)

It was four a.m.when the thunder of
equatorial rain began to pound
the aluminum siding of the church beside my building.
Eyes popped open,
brother sound asleep below my top-bunk fortress.
Irises shifting lightning fast,
from chocolate brown to hazel,
as slivers of light do to my eyes after midnight darkness.
Motionless...
a slow exhausted smile creeps across my face,
a veiled snapshot only childhood excitement can attain.
Snug and warm as freshly baked bread,
I
tune all my adolescent senses to
the nature surrounding my concrete city,
pouring its heart out in white ribbons,
and sound-slashes,
emptying its sky in howls that
shake our apartment's sliding living room windows...
And as I lay there,
cognizant of being sole spectator in this trophy display
of Caracas beauty,
the dark corners of my mind slowly crawl into sunshine.