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It was nothing personal -
the clouds have come often lately -
but no rain, and you so worried
about the stock.
Tonight though,
I stand before the sink
sure the clouds are scudding
faster across the moon
Soft puffs of air stir
up through the floor boards
and they smell of rain.
I float into a new weather pattern.
A breeze across my shoulders
you push through my thoughts.
Your hopeful tentative touch
finds out the fire in me.
I think the drought will break tonight.
The washing up can wait.
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Not the poem which we have read, but that to which we return, with the greatest pleasure, possesses the power and claims the name of essential poetry.
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Dress (Haiku)
