After the rain, air;
woods heaving out
a deep, resinous breath
of respiration, decay;
palpably damp,
it smells like
rust and tea.
I inhale deeply,
exhaling again into the dappled blackness
of trees and stones and earth;
breathing into the wood’s dark mouth,
tasting.
Sisters
My little hurricane,
my little thunder
storming
around the house.
Gray raincloud cats
with claws like lightning
eyes gold like fire.
In your legs,
the strength of
mountains.
In your paws
the speed of light.
Nothing can catch
one
except the other.
Sisters, you live
racing the moon,
winning.
