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Waiting for
the storm to arrive We sat on the porch Listening to thunder's drumming in the distance Out beyond the river, beyond the island refuge of willows and raggeddy river birch. Wrens and song sparrows darted restlessly from limb to limb, twig to leaf Then fell silent and still As if to disavow allegiance to these woods As the clouds blackened and turned Marching upon us like a procession of holy women Holding candles of lightning Mumbling novena prayers for the helpless earth. Along the river bank, cottonwood leaves Flapping like strings of gas station pennants in a gale Like 10,000 Chinese paper fans Suddenly paused as the procession neared. And waiting for the storm, we barely noticed it upon us Until the sky exploded in a soup of rain Tumbling leaves, acorns, and dead twigs Rivers swelling out of darkness And cold winds driving us inside like deer seeking the dense green shelter of forest As the woman-clouds wept And lightning stretched like a bittern's neck Swallowing, then drawing downwards to earth The dark secrets of heaven. (To copy or translate this poem, please contact BILL CARROLL) TRANSLATOR and ILLUSTRATOR WANTED FOR THIS PAGE
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