by Joseph Baldwin

Raindrops are exploding
into brief crystal crowns
on the glistering asphalt
outside my window,
thunder is laying down
a barrage, dullness and
sloth in nature are being
defeated, stale air and
old thoughts washed clean,
all life renewed.
— Even my own. I shall
stir, soon as the storm
has passed, and stride
about outside, ingesting
the new world; blithe,
remembering how prodigal was
the scattering of crowns.