After the Storm

Again, a late night, another late post of a poem. The prompt was in the title.

After the Storm

When the wind takes a breath,

stops shaking the trees in a tantrum,

when clouds seize opportunity, scatter,

swirl and part, and the sun turns water

to steam on the rooftop, you step out

the door, tentative like tulips pounded
by the rain, lift your head, send brightness
back to the sun, to the sky.

Here we Go...Day One.

A Poem a Day for June. Number one:

Simple Mathematics

A storm is whistling in:

the bottoms of scudding clouds

obscured by the lighter gray

of diagonal rain.

If this geometry were at the coast

or on more protracted water,

the wind would gauge whitecaps

and reckon waves of substance

on a heaving waterscape,

but in these protected inlets

and coves, only small ripples

bisect the surface with the gusts –

no waves to speak of at all.

A black tug pushing a mouth

of white froth has left port,

the wind at its stern.

A patch of light spreads across

the darker, wind-troubled bay

as it moves away: calm water extends

in a widening triangle

that marks the channel –

a compass between the buoys.