Thursday, May 15, 2008

North Florida, 1998

When I return
                in summer,
I return
        to the summer rain—
   thunder in the distance,
                then near,
              then rumbling

If the trees could
        they would shake themselves
           like dogs—
       every leaf is dripping.

And I walk
        between the puddles
under the trees
        to the field—
                subdued sunlight
          and grasses
and a moment
  I try vainly
        to grasp
           from time.

Beneath the opening sky
the thunder soft in the distance
there is a peacefulness
which is caught
     by the summer air
and fills
        every crevice