Partially Ruined to Rise

Was it sunrise or lightning 

as far as east from west?  

It breathes in shades and beats, 

comes, heaves like a torso 

sometimes with and

sometimes without 

thunder, 

its distance a veil, clouded, unkempt, 

a blur that won't occur fully formed 

under duress or from my oft-bleating 

hyper-aware 

skull.

But morning will bend a later sky 

reluctant now to discard its night 

having left Roman frescoes 

artifacts, partially ruined,   

grounded to rise again 

from the digger’s daily

brush.