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OK, you got us – only one thing actually happens in this poem: the poet sees a bolt of lightning and reflects on how the bolt is like a fork. This leads her into an imaginative meditation on this piece of awe-inspiring cutlery: if the lightning is a fork, it falls from some mysterious table, dropped accidentally by some mysterious hand, in some mysterious house. We can't ever see who's doing the dropping, or where they live, but the glimpse of the falling "fork," the poem concludes, reveals to us (poor, ignorant humans that we are) the fact that these greater powers are out there.