After the storm

After the storm is like the world
After a fist fight.
Shocked
And stumbling
Taking stock of wounds,
Fractured ribs, limbs
Thunder claps, like shouts
That recede into low rumbles,
Like ghosts of screams
That still ring ears,
Hang silent
In midair.
Candle flames lick
The walls of rooms
Light abandoned.
Steam disappears
In ascent from
The bending asphalt.
Rivulets of rain carve new paths
In Mars-red mud.