Winds blow
way too hard
and the air is way too
hot
for early May.
It doesn’t take many days
like this
to scare us
into panicky August thinking
and when clouds move
closer
and we get only a few drops,
well, we finally admit
that the grasses are holding back
and the wild prairie blossoms
are barely showing.

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And then the winds quiet
for a few hours
before dawn
and when light comes
the air is cool—
really—
and the clouds stay
for hours
and I think I hear
the plaintive sweetness
of a violin;
the poignant draw,
sure and slow,
of cello bow
across low and lovely.