if I wake up

will the clouds still gather with the band outside my house
by the dahlias dripping with the memory of that short
short rain I saw through the smoke of a well-timed cigarette
even though it bled transparent if I stepped
out from under the tree
into the humidity and grey
turned tourmaline turned obsidian and midnight
with a proffered hand and a cheap joint
twirling idle between thick fingers
will the air still smell of soggy pine needles and wild russian sage
plimmed by greedy drops
until it snows and the chill
revives me

Lea is a former shining light of Wenatchee Valley College. She enjoys arts, politics, mathematics, science, philosophy, and worthy discussion. She is currently on a whimsy tour, “crafting people, ideas and conversation from air.”