Particular Lightning

When you’re alert, you’re a poem
Of generalized desert
Light, plain cornucopia

Of abundance making small
Variety out of fierce
Dust and the empty basket.

When you’re asleep in situ,
Narcoleptic and dreaming,
You’re the forest of forecast,

In which the particular
Mocks the inevitable,
Darkness tossing the branches

Lightning may strike, since lightning
Must strike, but never that one.