Remember the summer
we were obsessed with Burroughs?
Anything familiar like the sound of far off
thunder close enough to subdue the mad-paced
hours. Something inciting, a strike of lightning.
The scent of combustion ready to ignite.
Everything electric that made us come alive.
Our hearts caught between whale song and sigh
spontaneous thunder and intermittent quiet
Sporadic as a summer storm.
Leonid Afremov “Rains Rustle”