something about the absolution of a squall
the way of water's rush and rise
a drumbeat like a carnivale
the air grows thick before your eyes

the tension surges by the fall
of countless fists that beat the ground
each raging, solid, sharp and small
a teardrop howl lost in the sound

they race along the sided wall
spring-swollen river gutterpipes
old leaks burst into waterfalls
by then, the worst will pass us by

soon air grows dry and grass stands tall
and only leaves are bent with rain
the gutters' flood and drainage all
the scars of storm left to remain