It rained hard overnight,
which would usually rouse me, but
I slept right through it,

waking to roughed up trees,
disheveled leaves blown around the yard,
and power blinking in and out.

The little ephemeral stream
running along our yard
churning water funneled from the

confluence of hills up in our holler.
The air remains thick and paints
my face with a sheen of slick sweat as

I stand on the porch surveying the sky.
It’s still early, but cicadas already scream.