The way the clouds block then funnel
the moon's light so that it splays upward
like a fan in a goddess's hand. Her
modest wind keeps mosquitoes at bay.
But we know how fickle she is, hovering
there in the southwestern sky, guardian
and trouble maker. A storm brewing.
All night rains disturb the earth. The deer
huddle beneath trees, their breath rapid,
visible. Thunder and lightning in their eyes.
Omens in my wife's waking dreams.