Roger Singer

Bring on the ancestral winds,

the colliding of clouds with thunder

rolling and breaking into silent valleys

and the souls of weak men.

Let the deep of the deep surface,

Let it breathe to the top and bring with it

forceful sounds and the wet of rain

and clean satin moisture promising

to wash city dust from buildings

and dirt from cracked asphalt

forcing the turbulent muddy soup into gutters

so a freshness can prevail

even for a short period of time,

though sad for me

due the dislike I have for bright days

and a beating sun

forcing sweat to run my face and chest

and everything I touch on the days

of blue skies that out number

stormy days of thunder

with lightening full of static

and rain pulsing randomly onto streets

and cars and everything exposed

filling those short moments I love and wait for

in the city where I live.