Breathing heavily in the dark,
long gusts moan against the timbers
of the house, tree limbs dance,
new leaves shiver beyond the porch light,
the near world all but swallowed-up
with this storm come out of the black.
Like the scurry of mice, light fingertips
play upon the roof, caressing metal sheets
with promises and soft talk, and so
it begins: the drawn-out love making
of gleeful showers teasing trees,
growing louder, pouring steadily
into long crescendos—each drop
pressed into streams and rivers,
cascades loosed above as I grin,
safely hidden, beneath the waterfall
at Soda Springs, behind its veil
spilling, roaring downstream:
dancing colors in the light, blurred,
high-pitched voices of child friends,
some wondering where I’ve gone.
drycrikjournal 