that’s what they say
though I’ve seen our desert
beat up clouds hundreds of times
kick them out a side door
send them running in tears
when I take the dogs out to pee
there’s a slim pointy moon
in a gauze of white vapor
a haze that threatens nothing
but a good night’s sleep
at 2 a.m. though
through my open window
tap-dancers descend
onto the stage of my roof
before making ballet jumps
onto the leaves on the ground
but it’s the extended growl
from the mouth of the storm
that approaches which seems
aimed directly at me
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