The Raindance

shuddering,
something moves—
the whole thing, the heat,
a sense of the sky
approaching
like a determined embrace,
smell of ozone, and leaves and
brittle dirt, dust lifting—
the storm hits,
everything waves and flickers,
then goes still
and we are left with an aroma—
wet bitumen, eucalyptus,
green aether, air.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio

$1.00

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