Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #4                         Page 48
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Cicadas drone.
Sky grumbles low,
long to a horizon's
knit brow, sun
a wink and gone.
Air trembles, thins.
Mists rise from dark
shadows between
still trees. First drops
spatter, shudder
leaves, rivulets
in dust. Then clouds
shatter, erase
my tiny view
of my tiny world.
I hold my breath
for something new.

  Richard Dinges, Jr.