What the Rain Does
The way it melts on the tongues
of the grass, or shatters when
it hits the glass of the window
and forms a hundred clones
that fall together past the rails
of the balcony, each one alone
The way it forms a mist on tin
rooftops kissed with a sun shower's
mutters or blessed by a cascade
that will run down the gutters
It soaks into my skin, licking
into every pore, screaming:
"Wake up!" Useless flesh becomes
alive more and more
It tickles my toes, decorates
the roses in the garden to a
photogenic pose; falls gentler
on the spider webs that
in the morning will look new
beside the morning earth bathed
and glazed with dew.
of the grass, or shatters when
it hits the glass of the window
and forms a hundred clones
that fall together past the rails
of the balcony, each one alone
The way it forms a mist on tin
rooftops kissed with a sun shower's
mutters or blessed by a cascade
that will run down the gutters
It soaks into my skin, licking
into every pore, screaming:
"Wake up!" Useless flesh becomes
alive more and more
It tickles my toes, decorates
the roses in the garden to a
photogenic pose; falls gentler
on the spider webs that
in the morning will look new
beside the morning earth bathed
and glazed with dew.