Transfiguration

The rain was sudden and heavy.

The electric lights flickered.

The power pole crosses fixed against

the high wind that moaned around the eaves.

The tree across the street lost

more of its yellow leaves,

afloat like tiny toy boats in the puddle 

in the street beneath.

The storm resolved into a transfiguration

of that late afternoon.

The sun broke through, low now;

November evenings come early.

There was no rainbow,

but yellow leaves, painted in relief against the sky,

shone gold on Parrish blue,

like a votary’s vision of heaven.