The Branch and Vine

Clinging to the branch and vine

In wait of microbursts

Like poets at the well with lines

Hoping to quench a thirst

Scrolling, canopies of gray

Knock with nitrogen

Lightning cuts the hem and frays

Like silver words, the pen

Parched, the roots drink puddles

Veins of thought cast onyx shade

Fruit swims in sangria bowls

Kraft boxed, warm pie, homemade

Peaches, mixed with sugar

Cream and milk — gelato chills

Foggy windows, breath and verse

A la Mode melts down the sill