The Raindance

something moves—
the whole thing, the heat,
a sense of the sky
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


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s