but still I think of you whenever
a thunderstorm lands, a good gullywasher,   

how we’d snuggle on your sunporch loveseat,
awed, soothed by the rhythmic downpour,  

the way wind dragged the raindrops, how sometimes 
they fell in sheets, the wet shine of the deck,  

bodies of our cars, green leaves,
the surprise of lightning spikes that flashed,   

zigzagged, forked. To fully relish the drama,
we remained silent except for concurrent startled  

intakes of breath at lightning’s close spurt
followed by an intense thunderbolt   

that rattled the window glass, rumbled
the soles of our feet. O, that lush, musky petrichor.