The weather in Geneva
1816 in summer out on the lake
colder than England a cold wind
just one sail and a rudder fighting the blast
no forecast sky a coal-black seam
water becoming wilderness as it thrashes
there with her husband and friends
she can’t speak
spray spits in her face they curse God
she sees slabs of exposed mountain
outcrop where a single bolt
causes rock to shout I am alive
they don’t know about an eruption
in another place in a dark hemisphere
jets of ash covering half Europe
afterwards indoors in a country of rain
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