It starts to rain
as the heat from the water and my body
meets the biting cold spring air
A small disturbance in the natural order
it is raining, but only here
just in these four inches above this five foot square
as the water swirls and bubbles
at 102 degrees
Just one discrete micro-disturbance
A single micro-storm
in this quiet New England atmosphere
as I sit alone and watch these hills
turn from blue to purple to grey
and then vanish,
swallowed whole
into the stark moonless dark
RunningawaywiththeSpoon (c)2009
All rights reserved. This poem may not be reproduced or copied in whole or in part without the expressed written permission of the author.
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