The weather brings us fitting justice;
its hopes are full of rain and thunder.
But first, the air turns sideways
and stirs up leaves and loaves,
fishes and toads.
Was I indeed dreaming just then?
We take two-lane highways
that pass through tiny towns
as quiet as the dreams of trees.
The bricks of those elderly buildings
are remembering the days when they were young.
The night-wind blows through my window.
The droning of the engine
and our own whispered words
are the only other sounds.
I lay my head back and breathe.
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