The open window

Unfolds the night like a map

Eight miles away

On tracks at the foot of Murray’s Knob

Diesels pulling empty gondolas north for coal

Blare air horns at every grade crossing and driveway

Between Magodee and the county line

The storm rubbing the curve

Of Bent Mountain

Thunders mildly

Polite as a dinner guest

While the stream below

Rises with the urgency

Of cloudbursts miles away

Down at the corner

A pickup whines toward home

As a skunk

Noiseless but easily noticed

Has left the woods to

Hunt grubs in the lawn

Just outside

Across the room

Karen looks up to say

“It’s beginning.”

As the first drops

Sound on the standing seam roof

She falls asleep

To the roar of summer rain