Sunday, May 31, 2009


The grass begins to stir
as if to sense someone on tip-toe
or the distant tunnel of earth-worms 
in their slippery persistence 
to surface towards a wash of rain 
impregnating the gather of clouds
still forming to the shape 
of their own forecast.

We sit and wait in the silence
between thunderclaps and count;
seconds into miles.

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