Copper acres turned to tinder
below the cloudy bowl
gorged with the soundless majesty
of cumulonimbus and cumuli.
Even the swifts had left the sky,
and with them summer; no more shapes
like black boomerangs
on a breaking-wave horizon.
It swelled gradually, a black migraine
of a thunderstorm, a tight black bubble
fit to burst in a shimmering downpour
of warm rain on crackling stubble.
Kim M. Russell, 21st August 2018