Early on the crowns of walnut trees
scraped their points against the sky, while limbs
cozened their come-hither strategies
at cloudful shapes. By noon no storm begins
although it was the kind of winds and dark
that tomato plants had hoped would bring
results. It’s just a tease, some birds remark.
By evening not much weather’s happening.
One more summer swelter after all;
the beaconed rain recedes into the west.
Could subtler invitation bring its fall?
No gales above, below no writhing, lest
a Turk’s Cap Lily closes gaping mouth
at Sirius’s haze towards the south.