And the rain waits, gravid and still
For crumbling leaves and cicada shrill
To tempt it down out of its leaden gown.
Porch lights burn through the night
Yellow, rancid, offering empty welcome
Moth flick, dusty wings circumscribing heavy air.
Hovers the rain, coy, scenting this slice of August,
A rolling bruise on the sky. The asphalt heat haze,
The tar incense, the flaking paint and crazed mud cracks
A thousand desperate letters, o my love please come back-
Random intensely personal, sometimes painfully poetic blog link: the world through apricots, like he said