it might rain

it smells like rain, I say

to her, as we swing on the porch,
side by side,

back and forth against
the light kiss of summer wind.

not a worry on our face.
tea in hand,

cold tea set out all day
in a pitcher
in the sun.

we see a stripe of lightning
far away
against the blue

arms of mountains.

maybe, she says. maybe not

and
I agree.