Last Night, the Storm

This morning, I drank my coffee on the front porch.

Last Night, the Storm

Tree limbs sag,
heavy with fallen rain;
drops of water, as broad
as silver coins, rest
on leaves reaching
as hands reach,
tired hands
begging for tuppence
and alms.
Shadow seems to haunt
the air, a taint
that blankets this moment
swaddles it in quiet.
There, a stray cat,
crouched, lapping water
from a puddle,
lifts its head to the dull sun,
pained beneath
a lumbering peace.

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