soft drops sigh into blacktop
rendering it just bearable for bare feet
one is never wet in a
summer storm
only warmer
with water drying damp on cotton like
an old quilt unearthed from
cellar memories
the sun remains
a lingering, not unwanted,
but uncommon presence
commingling with the clouds
a guest reluctant to leave
summer storms
abandon the sky swiftly but without notice
july heat burns sideways
reigniting thirst
the grass chafes brown against itself again.
