(no subject)

[dancing_crow]

wind rakes the rain in lines 
pointing south and west
the trees thrash but do not break
the streets are coated with water
that hasn't time to drain

and yet, we still sit in lighted and refrigerated splendor
and yet, the wind moans not
and yet, the worst has not arrived
and may not, if this is the backside

(eta)

I'll admit to hurricane dreams last night

the trampoline took flight, the metal frame shrieking
the central black mat like a bat's black wings, held captive in the center
the whole cartwheeling itself into the neighbor's yard before flying away downwind

it looks suspiciously smug, and quite stable this morning
after its adventures in the dark of my mind