isn’t thunder,
it’s patience.
Sky spent the day pretending
she never broke a promise.
Sun on the sidewalks,
palm leaves shaking off yesterday
like dogs after a bath,
as though nothing ever flooded.
You could look up and think
the blue is perma-dyed,
that weather doesn’t lie,
that clouds don’t lurk offshore
planning their ambush.
Tonight the horizon will smudge,
a gray line will draw itself
across the edge of our certainty,
and the sky will remember
what it swore.
