Tuesday, October 13, 2009

First Storm

The patio is dimpled with the play
of fast fingers
performing from the closed sky

the rhythm like a heart beat
on and on

it is shinning the imperfect truth
into just another ordinary

I see now how it is
how the river runs though the alley
and out into the wisdom of the street
daring the curb

so slam the window shut
where dust is still clinging to summer
the changing is timed and cannot be taken back

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