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.