every time it rains my
memory is intimate
without exception,
of the times i suffered
with sorrow, or the
prestige i received
from ovations. these
are the consequences
of my times before the
floods and the prisms
that cured my yearnings.
gorgeous rain, gross
rain, nourish my
garden. i feel you
in my hair, pounding
my eyes, your flavor
on my tongue, i inhale
you into my essence.
there has been rain
in all my seasons.
from early light to
my last words i chant
for it. divinity has always
responded with habitual
thunder. there is no
restitution, no tickling
the palm of rain. it will
not wait for me. i wait
for it like a dog waits
for a banquet of bones.
tonight is an unclouded
sky with a mint of silver
and a full moon to
lament upon till it
rains in my brain again.

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