The Cresset
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Georgia Ressmeyer

Morse code of rain
on metal gutters
seemed to call us
fools for believing
thunder’s promise,
yet when thunder
dragged its dark side
out of town, rain
lingered, pattering
quietly to parched,
quivery leaves,
restoring faith to
skeptics with tin
ears who listened
shallowly at first
but learned to hear
by giving way,
as vegetation does.



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