Over Ville Marie, thunder clouds bloom today and
raindrops start their patter on my windshield, like scurrying
nuns late for mass, rosary-beads flying like
the traffic on Ste-Catherine Street this morning.
Through the passing glare of lights, I see
wet white wing-tipped feathers in the fog, a few
darting swallows, hear herring gulls screeching
in the charcoal-tinted cloudburst somewhere high.
margaretmaryjoyce 