Monday, November 9, 2009

The Rain gets in

In the morning,
When the rain comes down hard.
We can feel it ease into our bones
our skin, the back of our neck.
Gives us the chills.
We can smell it,
the copper taste in the air
rolls under our nostrils,
sneaking in.
We can taste it.
It gets inside us
like breath.
I love it.
The intimacy of rain drops
touching my face
soothes my need for attention;
stops any greed for invention,
In the sunlight,
everything looks black and white.
Contrast is king.
But in the rain,
the lines between us blur,
meld, like smoke.
Comfort in gray.
No expectations.
Some people need to go inside.
The rain makes them sad.
They need to go in and hide
from the intimate wet day and night.
They miss the lovely sound
of the pounding drops
on their windows;
the lovely sound
of drops on their doors,
the vibrant sound of water embracing them,
getting inside;
opening them like buds.


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