Skyscraping popplers
bow their leafless tops and creak
from harsh, shrilling wind.

Puddles fill pockets
where footprints carved soggy mud,
rippling with rain.

Smoke wafts lazily
from chimney tops, blending with
mold’s pungent perfume.

Electric branches,
streaking the overcast night--
CRACK! The walls vibrate.

Only when dawn’s light
bleeds gold and pink horizons
does the storm pass.