In god we tusk

raining again, she notices
the window clouds with fractals and blurry reality
distorted, but not uncommon
envisioning beyond the majesty of nature
she articulates a monarch, refreshing perception
a seasoned, sage bastion of poetic truth
hard-earned orbit of beauty
(if, ultimately, in vain)
enviable dichotomy of esteem and rhetoric
a symbol of power so postmodern it's almost parenthetical
gazing over the torrent, bemused
acknowledging kinship with this environment
that she-mere mortal-can never hope to understand
her words lucid, disorganized, repetitive
reflecting the fluid consequences
so far removed from this celestial supremacy
of ornate motion
in idle distinction