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Desert Morning

Grumbling thunder keeps Sun Goddess covered
late, beneath a gray, cotton-like canopy
of mist. Monsoon breezes tumble
with arctic air, whipping fronds
into a frenzy of dance, waltzing
into disco as the storm gathers. Dark,
as black as lamb’s wool, blankets
the mountains. Lightening
rips back and forth across the sky,
jagged bolts of white light
that force eyes to blink at the brightness—
a prelude to rain pounding Spanish tile roofs,
sweeping white-capped rivers down the pitch.

It ends as quickly as it began,
sparrow song softening the day.

Sun Goddess folds back her velvety cover,
peeks above tufted mountaintops,
stretches tall smiles wide reaches
for nature’s palate, brushstrokes
purple orange red
on a canvas of robin-egg blue
back dropped in white thunder heads.
Cicada choir commences in high pitch.
Felines belly-crawl from beneath the bed.
Coffee steams hot from a ceramic mug.
Puddled on the patio, rainwater,
cold on the soles,
tempts toes of the child within.

Splat. Splat. Splat.

© Susan Parker
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author’s permission.