Saturday, May 21, 2016

Coltrane's Rain

This perfecting night the stars
fit between each branch
of the fruiting plum.

The yard, mowed or un-mowed,
greenly slopes toward the ocean
below the moon.

The wet sodden air
seeks our skin like water
as we rush inside from the sudden rain.

We credit butterflies with kisses,
but it's all the world blowing us
a love song supreme.