POETRY: The Dry World Waiting

the summer storm swirled
around his car
as we accelerated
through the mix of
sound and sudden dark
the sky charcoal purple
like a closing throat
tires skipping across
the wet pavement
and the semislick friction
of rubber amplifying
through my ribs

the road broke over
the lip of the low mountain
as we battering rammed
through the wall of
gunflint ice and rain
three weeks before he left me
blinking our eyes at
the dry world waiting
impossibly cut blocks
of shadow and sun
brickpaved perfect
across the valley floor