…ched, palms cupped,
offering rainy days and a temperate kind of peace.
I breathed with the earth. As the last of summer’s swifts
flew overhead, poems fell from cloudy skies, making
ripples in my tea. What are we, if not vessels of wonder?
After the drought, the green dripped and lurched
from the hedgerows, demanding to be noticed;
fresh new shoots bounded from pavement cracks
in quiet, wild revolt. Poppies and sunflowers bloom…