floating and leaving no trace
this rain stops
time stops
the asphalt blooms
oil-black lakes
reflected headlights
stare back
from depths that disappear
with the wind’s breathing
but for now
hollow white eyes
gaze from nothing
heaven’s mirror
a hollow mass of gray wool
stretched overhead
you circle back
in this rain
retrace your steps to search for
that piece of yourself
you dropped
on the sidewalk?
in the gutter?
that thing you dropped
it is smaller than a snowflake
fragile as bones
woven of glass strands
and now
you say
i must go with you
to help you find it
i will bring a light
and hope my failing eyes
offer some assistance
the rain overflows the gutter
a waterfall cascading
to the flowerbed
by the cold fireplace
i hear drops pelting
the chimney
wonder why a flood of soot
and nests and bones
doesn’t wash down
a cartoon tsunami
but the chair is warm
and there is peace
in the rain
a sleep-inducing rhythm
a gentle melancholy
that closes your eyes
but promises to open them
morning rain washes
everything clean
sidewalks, streets
air heaves with petrichor
and the scent of eucalyptus
thin crescent moon wanes overhead
masquerading as a wisp of cloud
today, two cars make u turns
in the middle of the street
what is not forbidden
is implicitly allowed
the sun, that smug bastard
burns through clouds
ruining this autumnal dream
but he draws my eye
like a pointed finger
two silhouettes
against a brighter bank
two souls
rising up on shafts of light
or a pair of angels
falling in slow
motion
out walking
under this late
september sky
promised thunderstorms
never saw a drop of rain
dirty mud drops
spotted the bonnet of the car
where they dried
the air stinks of rain
refusing to fall
and diesel
–petrichor and fuel–
making me remember
autopia and the submarine ride
at disneyland
they don’t
take paper tickets
anymore
the blue in the sky
a cobalt strike
like earth when
you take her picture from space
clouds rolling
blisters of grey and
not quite white
i remember autumn
by the smell of leaves
wet sticky ones–all wilted lettuce
and dry ones–crackling thin potato chips
bring on the equinox
i’m ready for a day with
an equal amount of light
and darkness
neither of us thought to bring
an umbrella
though all the signs were there
dark, sullen clouds in your eyes
and the thunder of silence
rolling between us
i pull my coat around me
and you do the same
with your own coat
self-comfort without any warmth
i make an umbrella for you
out of my bones
stretch my skin across the ribs
and this rain falls
red as a river of regrets
and never gets you wet
falls as red as everything that
ever entered or exited my heart
my cloud-shaped heart
and you are untouched
——
——
for Jane Dougherty Writes
Poetry challenge #41: In the rain
Franz Marc In the Rain(Im Regen) (1912)
[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
we are all
musical instruments
flutes made of bone
femur and tibia
radius and ulna
so many ribs
bleached and hollowed
drilled with precision
so that the wind
passes over us
and plays us
a dry harmony
we wait for rain
to reflesh us
and take up
our own voices
once again
the clouds wandered in
while i was eating
distracted by all the carbs
and the waitresses’ uniforms
at the saloon
i managed to make it
across the street in time
to see a single finger of lightning
touch the ground
out beyond the town
thunder rolled into me
like i was made of dried wood
and the drops fell heavy and fat
old silver mining town
more famous for murder
washed for the moment clean
deafened by thunder
blinded by lightning, we fall
drowning in this rain
——
RonovanWrites
Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt
Challenge #96 Lightning&Rain
the last fall of rain
did little to put out
a fire burning
in the marrow of my bones
smoke enough to choke
and a rough slurry of ashes
were all that cleansing
could effect
the heavens will have to spare
more water than there is
in all seven seas
to drown me
Words and Feathers 