The scent of the world after rain in the summer
Has, I think, no particularly formal name;
And, as far as I know, the delight at finding
A missing shoe is in a class much the same.

Knowing what another driver is about to do,
Before they begin to indicate their ambitions;
Or the path the roses trace in the wind
That gives away the upcoming storm’s position.

Nameless and potent, these tiny enticements,
Give my shallow world a few more specks of excitement.