I stumble under       sunny-thunder sky. The weather

simply does as it chooses, and we all might
learn some lesson there. I’ve been drinking.

On the corner the church’s old stone looks thirsty.
Nothing’s coming. There’s a little gauze hanging
in the wind, but the sun is beaming.

Thunder that is harbinger of nothing,
that doesn’t tell fortunes. Thunder
with no rain

and I regret drinking so much so early

because I can’t tell if I heard it at all.
A couple snuggles on the bench, their dog panting,
and I overhear a man describe a horse as “regal.”

There it is again       that rumble
like a truckload of apples spilling.
Like a god’s big belly.
A dog in the sky.
Landslide from space.
Ocean of bones.