gunmetal blue and grey; the clouds roll toward
the darkened city; atmospheric hush -
the only lights the gentle upper flush
on highest cloudbank, advertising boards
and scattered blinking beacons; like a chord’s
crescendo, in the storm’s approaching rush
the evening seems to pivot, broaden, crush
all other thoughts; this cannot be ignored.
you stare, await the splattering of drops,
their thrum on tin - but storms won’t be provoked,
and there’s a chance the rain will pass you by.
the clouds unfold; a yearning comes unstopped
(you’d normally prefer not getting soaked);
you raise your forehead toward the roiling sky.