outside the office window

by Brendan Strong

The trees shake their leaves and raise a breeze, and together

Blow white clouds free and gentle around the bright blue sky.

The clouds dance with glee; some tether together, maybe forever

The closer you watch them, the less you can trust your eyes:

Their tiny motions won’t be known: focus, and the edges feather

Refocus and they shift aside

 

Then the twigs wiggle: birds start to flap instead of glide

Now the clouds get hurled around, bruising each other in silence:

Spreading their vapour across the sky 

The tumescent Grey bulges with whispered violence 

Warm wraps everything. That’s the sign:

Rain. It falls slow and steady and mindless.

 

The trees shake their branches at the people who declare

“At least the rain will clear the air –

It’s been too sticky and close today”

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