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The storm moved away
how a friend does in childhood

reasonless

invisible ocean currents in the clouds
pulled it further down the valley
tugged it across the river
ran it up the mountainside
raking it through the sharp comb of the hemlocks
till it wore itself out in one long last tantrum

The thunder cried
and the wind pulled the pigtails of the trembling aspens
raindrops shattering on exposed roots
like your favorite mug

cold little explosions on the sides

of those gossiping paper birches who drank it all in
until between the lines their bark was full
and tender as skin over veins in the soft corner of my knee

Come stand in the wet grass with me
breathe in the aftermath
feel how the air is washed clean
the dust it carried

buried in the velvet mud

under a blanket of dandelion and clover
see how the pale bare branches of the sycamore
catch the edge of the sun cutting sideways
from under the lifting clouds
gutting the sky

showing the bone

and the honey-green fans of the walnut leaves
lit from within like neon
pinch the lace of the light’s softer side in their rumpled fingers
and throw the rain’s last encore on our heads

ours and this moth climbing on my arm
her wings are too heavy to spread
too heavy to dive up at the light she feels returning
but she reaches
do you think she knows

how the rain still holds her down?

Stand still with me and watch her wait to fly away.