You know what? I really don't have anything to say here. Let the poems speak for themselves!
only a listing torii
a field of umbrellas.
rainy independence day
even the faucet
Rain. Down from the sky in sheets it falls, blustery, black, and grim. The morning's brilliant sun engulfed by noontime clouds. The city huddles beneath its rainy shawl, weathering the storm as best it can.
But on the field, there is life. There has to be. Certain celebrations will not wait. A tent stands at one end, faint strains of Sousa drifting over the small, determined crowd. A "sunshine march", so ironic, water spilling over the edge and onto the conductor. The trio of El Capitan, so reminiscent of Gilbert and Sullivan, is lost in a fresh onset. Finally, with a last gush of bombast, Stars and Stripes moves to its inevitable close. Behind them, the fireworks start.
birds fly south,
their home is gone