Black clouds blanket the sunset
and warm winds tug me home.
My evening walk is followed by thunder,
the smell of rain breezing in
through windows thrown open for airflow.
You see, two scents melt my defenses:
one is rain, the other you.
Rain heals the earth tonight,
battering the rooftops and
spattering our garden and
spritzing me through a window screen.
The sky loves the earth
with a fierce love,
hindering my sleep.
I lie awake and wonder how it would be
to hold you on a night it rained.
Floating ducks on the rainbow pond
of red and gold and green and blue
Falling sun before long blue shadows
across green grass and gray stones
Flying black birds in the white sky
over red and black cars
Flailing brown branches in wind
above white-frosted tree trunks
The car hums and whines and we travel
from point A that I trust
to point B where my fears are,
and I wonder if the lights
went out in the cities we pass,
would we think a world existed
beyond this freeway
and rain spatters?
Would we care that space and time
hummed along faster
than we did,
and the rain fell harder
than we let ourselves believe
in the movies we’d seen?
The sound of the rain reminds me of you;
one arm around my shoulders, your head on mine.
We are just standing, not speaking,
because you understand how I feel about the rain.
The rhythm is steady, yet unpredictable.
Pat, pat, pat on the sidewalk,
on the roof, on my outstretched hand,
like oceans waves,
or the beat of my heart.
Barefoot on the cold porch, my feet are freezing,
and between the clouds,
one white star is shining bright.