Off in the distance – yes – thunder
But no rain, the humidity clinging to my under
Arms free of burden and water
Does the universe matter
Or do we have to think of it first
Yuri in his Russian-Speak walks into my office
Singing some old village harvest song
My limp meager white trash bag in his mitt
No rain here, he says, looking at me
He is pointing at his feet
I look out the window – nothing but noise
Over there, he again points and utters – rolling
Russian tongue – my garden
It will rain there. I stand and we look out
The window together at his house, his garden
Floating off in the distance
My plants
Off in the distance – yes – thunder
& rain
Reaching up their green mouths like baby birds
By- Wm. Anthony Connolly
