She woke that morning, wishing for rain

to loll away the afternoon to the sound;

she wouldn’t, but the idea appealed to her

and he, her personal poet, went to work.

First, the clouds of slate gray roll in off the gulf

as the waves swell and curl under the force

he imagines her sighing at the pressure change

a smile of delight crossing her beautiful features

and he smiles; knowing the humidity rises

and that the sound of thunder bellows across the bay

small splats of water, soaking into the concrete porch

as the sky continues to darken.

He sees her, in his minds eye, watching the drops

splatter on the windows; her poet is at work.

As the rain falls in sheets and the sky blackens

she whispers, “Thank you” and curls up on her couch

content in the knowledge that he is there.