Whiff of the Rain


Long before the rain chases a newspaper

down a dusty road or dances on tin roofs,

a rush is heard along the broad plantain leaves,

as the grey army advances.

You come to me on the whiff of the rain

halfway between a dream and the dawn.

When vows ride the inner curl of a wave

and whispers pause on the wing of a moth,

I remember a pale afternoon.

Lowering clouds clutch the horizon,

outlining the curves of your limb.

Drizzle silenced our world for a moment but

the zealous breeze teased a tempestuous wind

and the grey army advances.

Rain roars on the roof aiding torsional virtues

to take leave on the lap of the storm.

While the wind’s dying breath gathers you in its cloud

as the grey army advances.

-Lesley Lababidi

(all rights reserved, 1999) To copy or re-produce photography and/or writings, written permission from Lesley Lababidi is required.

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