After a Storm

by T.M. Wright

Olive the pug is transfixed

by a swiftly moving stream

which only yesterday was little more

than a trickle (whose

entire length, this morning,

is white water, which sounds

like a furious wind

and driving rain).

I see your amazement,

pug, your attention to change,

your need to know the creek,

the change.

And it’s a pity for me,

but it is at such times
that I wish for you

the doubtful gift of speech.

--T.M. Wright