Dreams billow in August mist,
steam rises from griddled ground,
a pillowed moon in darkness rests.
Lightning tongues serrate the sky,
drums roll thunder across the night,
deepest fears surge in flashes—while
fervent hearts murmur wishes for
soft cool rushes of healing rain.
A quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words, for dVerse Monday. The word of the day is ‘dream’.