July: Saint Cloud
by Steve Klepetar
This evening at six, heat falls away,
a curtain tearing from its metal rod.
A cold front sweeps in from Canada
as wind dances through leaf-thick oaks.
To the west you can already see black
fists of cloud, shadowy tentacles of rain
stretching toward rows of houses
in various shades of Minnesota beige.
Two crows leap from the tree above
my head, swing out into darkening
sky. 5䁵