With crystal clarity, stars throb
before the storm moves in at dawn,
black air clean clear to infinity,

leaky bucket worlds peeking-in
the window as I wake from sleep—
another promised day of needed rain.

Once, we took the day off,
went to town, visited neighbors,
congratulated nature for the extra holiday.

A machine takes messages
from a nine-to-five real-world
ordered to make hay on rainy days—

and I listen, hoping no one wants me
but time, time to ride the prolonged rage
of a loud and sudden thunderstorm.


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