After the thunderstorm

The wind has calmed down
 
it is a gentle caress from someone

pausing on the threshold and who's trying to say

‘I’m sorry’

Gone is the hot pressing temperament of the air

and somewhere among the leaves

a blackbird has resumed sleepy flute carnival               

(he’s the one who breaks the news too early)

  


Some scattered water puddles

- orphans of the pouring rain -

clear blank eyes reflecting  

the grey clouds




From an open kitchen window, murmuring voices

philosophy is also like housework

it is never done, we have to start over

every day




Trees and foliage are still

as a person who has suddenly stopped

to try to remember something important

really far back in time




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