parched cordwood weeks stacked one on another brittle browning bare feet grass chickens in the garden in the rhubarb huffing and puffing scratching dirt up under wings gauzy backyard haze sitting feet up and dozing lawnmower in sweltering barn uselessness stove-top steps on pavement everything green beaten down leaning like an elbow on a dog-day buzz fencepost air but no air the lake a mirage kids in the pool like gators up to their eyes and noses humid humid heavy chest-sitting humid   then   dishwater clouds   then   pre-storm rainfall teaser the first summer sundress waking the universe reminding remembering thirst lust satisfaction   then   soaking full-on downspout gush streets a white field of splish splash and tire-hiss mist at long last slip slink of satin clinging like light like truth like breath heavier now heavier still it falls musty fresh and the first deep breath that’s closed my eyes in it seems forever closed my eyes but not the car windows


Filed under Poetry


  1. Wonderful, Matt.

    That was a very welcome rain this morning. It blew out my portrait shoot at Braddock Bay, but it was welcome, just the same. We need plenty more of it.

  2. last night wind blew down and around and through everything outside my windows waving back lit by dry thunderstorms

  3. I’m in way over my head here, but it was a cool read.

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