Drape palls of fustian in the young-leafed trees;
Robins and blackbirds, vocal in their stealth,
Stalk verge and hedgerow in the heat-full breeze.
Like
iodine swabs the thunderheads cohere,
The
crows go silent in their startled strut,Hushed heat throws blankets on the rattling weir
And big-eyed raindrops pox a mud-hard rut.
With
a crack, like the blood welt from a whip,
Black-quarelled
rain gallons the frothing earth,The thick-fogged clouds, opaque as mine dust, rip
Thunder through the fir trees where jays take berth:
The
down-swamp done, a lop-tongued iris lurches
Tall,
and day’s heat steams in the world-fresh birches.
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© April 2014