The day steams
like an unattended cooker,
with warm mist
held suspended,
rising,
sweating,
and dripping
in the golden baking sun.
The humid, tight air
surrounds and
embraces with
its stifling clutch
that clings
like wet clothes
after the drench
of a summer storm.
Then, as if gathering
and distilling
this hidden mist,
the clouds form
like a black sponge,
high up but close,
ready to deliver
their load
with a flash and a crack
in the mirky
tropical air.
Drops as large
as splattered eggs
plop and bounce,
and build and increase,
falling like dead birds
in the turgid expanse of air,
till the flood
of release
from the mystery of darkness
gives way
across the waiting land.
31/10/2015