(Poem #362 on new numbering scheme)
Some clouds disputed with the ground and trees. The earth kept forcing its branches skyward; the sky in turn was throwing down droplets. My friend and I were waiting; so we talked. I sat and pulled out from my pocket, then, my smartphone, checking something. Suddenly a splash of rain struck the screen. Like magic, the dictionary app was opened. "Look," my friend insisted, "there's your next poem."