Before a
summer rain there is a torpid silence,
Leaves face
the sun, curled and wilted,
Dry with thirst
and ashen colors,
Warped into dragon
scales burned and strung across
Limbs that snap
and fall to earth for cover;
Until the
horizon changes.
Bearing gray
over the sunlight
Leaves stir and
turn their backs against a heavy wind
Picks up, beats
out the morning’s dew,
Twists their
arms behind their backs, and
Punches out all
the light;
Before a stream
of water drips over their edges
And clearly marks
the surface dust.
Are the
first signs of a heavy waterfall,
Rhythmic murmurs
caught in a plunge
By leaves weighted
and glossed over
By water too
heavy to carry or hold
They bow to
earth, dense and saturated in leaf tones,
With hypnotic,
dulcet sounds, like insect hums,
Water steps
forward and purrs in the cooled air flow
Leaves are dustless
and hearing is restored.
© cmheuer,
2015
