storm

storm

It’s pretty well-worn imagery,
but the storms really do roll here.

Seemingly from two directions at once,
the scooping wind is a solid presence.

The trees do a stadium wave up and down the street.

The sky darkens, slowly, from the northwest.
Local dogs
have fled indoors,
birdflight is comically controlled
chaos.

The cloud lightning is a tease,
pulsing but seldom forking,
thunder sounding but never cracking.
Always, somehow, behind the trees
and never overhead.

Too soon, only remnants,
complaining and ragged
in the distance

and it’s a little lonesome
in this dripping, scented quiet,
just one lone dog somewhere,
remembering.

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