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.
drycrikjournal 