While I wait
For the storm
A pair of brown boots left in dry grasses
Call me outside wanting
To be picked up

-They’d been kicked off after
Water filled them earlier,
He’d had the hose running
Cold in the crusty afternoon
A reprieve for the restless-

He couldn’t wait
For rain
Its crinkling sound

-as though glass was shattering in a billion drops
pouring down-

At last it is here
All quickness and straight lines

The sun doesn’t wait
To shine
It gazes through brightly,
The storm passes;
Not fierce enough to endure,
Carrying its song away.

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