There were no clouds. I prayed for lightning.

Every poem about thunder was written under the protection of a roof, or, at the very least, an empty sky	leaves spiralled around us like a benediction	they gather between lifetimes where the water shines	Sitting in the library, listening to the rain, reading an interesting book and wanting to meet the man who just walked past
June 17, 2008	you, radiating out among the crush of people	lost we	Magic in the World
Zenna Henderson	Thunderstorm	lightning	kawaii

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