And The Clouds Converged

and the clouds converge
where moments before
the sun had shone its bright face

and the rain paints ripples
on the small puddle we call our lake
where before, the butterflies swooped
over a horseshoe of blushing poppies
crowded close to the water

and the thunder and wind
roll invisible masses
over the nets abandoned in the
sprawling garden
where before, we stood,
us sisters, intent upon
owning the beauty of swallowtails
in our own keep-sake jars