The wind is roaring through the leaves like a torrent,
lifting the lake into rollicking furrows.

The post storm clouds, long, lean and limber,
resemble vessels of our childhood imagination,
white-grey ships bound for the universe’s edge

The sun has woken late today, sprinkling the
sleep from its eyes in liberal spades of light
that ride the furrowed water to shore,
cowboys galloping away from their own setting
blessing us all with their wild, ephemeral hearts