The thought of some body, the wait
for what else,
then, almost,
the yelp
of pleasure like rain
in San Diego
after a dry spell
when no one knows
how to drive
in this weather
and then the cut grass
glistens like ground glass once
some storm has passed.
And so it goes,
to a man.
© 2005 Tara Deal
is a freelance editor in New York City. Her poems have appeared in a number of publications, including West Branch, Flyway, and The King's English.
