Do me a favor,
says weather,
and carry this anvil
made of steam
around with you today:
okay?
Creeks flow
off my skin,
turning shirts
into wetlands.
After work, napping
in feverish circumstances,
I dream of alligators
belching thunder.
Humidity and feet,
I think, make for a fine
Stilton stink. With
sour thoughts,
I wait for cloud-towers
to collapse into rain:
one wet defeats another.
hans ostrom 2020
