the roar of god

The day is deranged,
the sunlight rails against me
and the Victorian brood
balk with painted pleasantry
but the dregs descend
on the damp, trashed night
they curse and they howl
and like dogs, they fight.
The wind stirs waves
in the puddled brine
rain soaks the centuries
the color of wine
and an old man, ruined,
hears a jet and nods,
"Ah," he says, "the roar of God."