Squall
When branches lift their leaves on buoyant air
their leaves upraised as in surrender
it’s clear a wind will blow and then they’ll fall
and droop becalmed before ripples reach them
of a tidal wave of air and quiver
as I see my muse shiver in my brain
feeling cold air foretell rain approaching
when her tender embrace will turn away
time turn again and then just as before
calm again aglow in golden sunlight
wrapped in a warm shawl surrounding her smile
waiting for sunset when the storm will come
our roof will rattle with ice-spitting rain
falling like grape shot on the bird bath’s pool
Dick Russell
2020
