It stayed that way for a while.
When I became poet laureate, people said what can you do about the weather. I said Besides look?
It's easy to remember seasons more regular. Darkness was good no matter what the weather, refinery lights as bright. Three forty-eight, thin cloud, patches clear.
The more I watched, the more I heard birds. A gull on dawn patrol seemed annoyed.
By saying this much I've agreed talk is all we can do when it comes to weather. Thousands remember the storm of '74 when if you drove a Cortina I guarantee the water came over your hood. Make up a story of a piano floating or a wedding gown lost, somebody's already told it.
Details emerge, colours of cars on the highway. Trail on the far side of the lake, still an hour from first jog. Weather's just one of those names of how our planet behaves.
When one's mind drifts from weather to some other idea, truly there is nothing one can do.
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