The summer storms threaten
Every day about now, about 5,
Quitting time closing over the sky
Like a lazy eye dragging a headache behind
Hitched to its timid shawl.
And in the cataloging of wonder
What many loves might have been?
Prescriptions, banns a-wither on the vine,
The cracked corn drops like busted rosary beads,
Pinging off the ground so dry, drier still
It repels the thunderbursts.
The clouds stacking against themselves.
Bumped up against one another
As if they can’t get out of here fast enough
And often do before release
Like a man with breakfast already on his mind
One way or another whatnot and what have you
Never breaking the day
Never telling us what we have truly lost
But leaving that up to us.
The coolness comes from walking fast
While stepping softly, kicking up dust,
But you still can’t
Sneak up on yourself:
It’s a dream troubled by sleep.