February the Ninth

thunder rumbles

late night storms

rain you can only hear

through the thick air

of a humid summer night

with ever hopeful cicadas

and nary a bird to be heard

 

birds prefer a moonlit night

kookaburras often bicker

under the light of a full moon

 

I lie in bed

watching the shapes of the sky

change with floating clouds

high above me

 

I slide into sweaty sleep

hoping for fireflies

to light my way to dreams

 

 

Copyright February 2020