At dusk the rain begins
great white torrents
between the dark bones of trees
washes across the meadows, fields

Behind, beyond somewhere
coyly out of sight,
an ogre grumbling

Peepers don't care, nothing
left to get wet, and spring is short

Close, drips and drumming
away, arguments heard from
behind closed doors

Now the world has turned to dark
the rumbles rise to shrieks and howls
cracked skies
Waiting still for the promised winds
I doubt there will be sleep in this night




jjl
8 May/26 June 2008