See the heavy pregnant clouds, blotting the summer sky.
Melting beneath eagle wings, fanning the summer sky.
I hear them call, before I hear, the footsteps of the rain.
Cupped in their palms the last sunbeam, fighting the summer sky.
With leaves and grime, those memories, drip down the sobbing roof.
Pluck dead stars out of their hair, cursing the summer sky.
They take my hand, we stumble through an ancient downpour.
Splash darkness from the puddles, staining the summer sky
Water whispers to the earth, messages from the clouds.
We eavesdrop, under the trees, mourning the summer sky.
(in Ghazal Form)