Thunder in the Fist

He lifts his clenched fist and the heavens divide, White lightning unspools where his wild sinews bide. A roar from the old world breaks open the night, And shadows turn silver beneath sudden light. In etched lines of darkness his shoulders still burn, While storm-written branches in bright fractures turn. The air tastes of iron, of omen, of flame, As thunder remembers the creature’s true name.