Almost-summer a wide porch

in another downpour just before
dusk where we sit awhile together

not talking. Almost-summer that
feels some last or the end of

something we’ve known long,
something on the verge of some

-thing else, some other becoming
all this rain’s made apparent, washed

clean whatever this that’s leaving or
about to find a new way. But not yet.

Today you say this storm isn’t anything,
say thanks. Today everything puddling

you point out, name after a great lake
or a river we crossed off then crossed.





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