jerome moore

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Maine Woods

Rooftops echo like a canyon lake
crashing all around me it leaks
thunder growls hard and loud in the bushes
loud enough to put fear of god in me
drops drip into the tent like time
I share a tent with my brother both shaking wearily,
and I cry a little in front of my brother and he understands,
as the rain collects in puddles under our human bodies shaking
and the storm is quiet until the window closes

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