rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


Today brought only sprinkles, but the sky has been freighted with splendid clouds. Looking skyward I can imagine the storm that didn't happen, water sheeting the street, pine boughs bent under the running weight of it, he sound of thousands of tiny drums drumming. Returning my gaze to the ground I see the gray pavement, the still trees, and hear the evening chatter of dry woodpeckers. Soon the frogs will begin to croak. They at least still have water.

Sunday Verse

Waking Up After the Storm

by Charles Wright

It's midnight. The cloud-glacier breaks up,
Thunder-step echoes off to the east,
            And flashes like hoof sparks.
Someone on horseback leaving my dream.

Senseless to wonder who it might be, and what he took.
Senseless to rummage around in the light-blind stars.
The full moon is one eye too many.

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