A Rhythm to the Rain
A river between clouds
rerouted to my roof,
there is a rhythm to the rain
and each storm a different beat.
All the cars,
all of the pavement,
every blade of grass gets touched.
Thorough and full,
steady in its douse,
smacking on impact,
thick like a Roman column.
The universe is a brain
and there is consciousness in this downpour.
Running from whichever door
to whichever other door,
each moment is extended,
but it was only 7 minutes straight thru.
Watching from an eave
the people scurrying like mice,
the rain letting up a bit,
deceiving that it’s done,
just to lay on heavier than before.
All this while I watch
feels like a series of lifetimes
linked into one spectacular finale.
I like the rain,
but the rain does not care.
It just rains.
And I like that too.