Friday, February 20, 2009

Storm Coming

Alone with the desert night
I hear the city rumble
breaking like waves on a distant shore.

The breeze is stiff, rain scented.
A dust cloud blossoming
at the base of a towering thunderhead
paints the horizon a pulsating
dirty orange.

Alone, I await your return
with dust-stung eyes searching
the lighted street.

No rain comes, just dust.
And you don't come,
only the storm.

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