One moment you were on your sagging porch
cavorting to the sturm und drang of an August
strangler.  Cymbals clanged and thunder clapped,
telling us it would be your final performance.
Telling you?   Rain!  you sang with all the voice
you had left.  Rain!!  God,  but I love
a good storm.  Lightning pale and lightning
thin, light as the wisps of mist-silvered hair
framing your leukemia ravaged face,
you electrified.   Ravished coal sky ogled
you through a net of catch-as-can-patched
screen, only light an eak from your  kitchen
and the pyrotechnic glow that was you.
IS, this rain whispers, then taps in Morse code.
No more florist daffodils and horrid pink
satin.  Still laughing, still shining, still a star….
Reluctant to go in, I jump in a puddle,
let  water  stream  until  thunder applauds.

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{First Prize,  Dan Sullivan Memorial Contest, 2007}