Thunder calls me from the dishes
last night’s arguments dissolving in bubbles
to the door. Open it: the world comes alive.
Silver sky, wet earth, the great pause as the heat breaks.
The leaves fidget, the dog fidgets, the baby fidgets in sleep.
Then a ripple across the sky. I close my eyes and there is nothing
but tree and sky fading to black in half lives.
(Originally published in The Year of Our Beautiful Exile, Gaspereau Press, 2015)