After The Storm

Not long after the downpour,

steam dragged itself

from the sheen of cobbles

in an effort to reach

the tiny rainbows

bouncing for the sun.

There was a wet smell in the air,

like the heaving body of a wolf

dying on a riverbank,

choking on its own blood

after the arrow

had pierced its throat.

The deep rumble of thunder

shuddered...

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Arroyo

The rain has fallen down for twenty hours
from a dead sky of slate and granite hews,
dampening the walls of urban towers.

Cobbled streets the colour of an old bruise,
tyres rattle over pothole dark drains,
counterpoint to some distant splashing shoes.

The day cast in monochromatic stains
as water forms itself into a lake
that eddies into inner city lanes.

A passing car cre...

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