Since the weather seems unable to decide what it is, I offer this for its consideration:
The rain begs me to record its thoughts,
Catching words as raindrops fall.
They collect in a rain barrel, jostling each other within -
All those words, bunched up together like a cluster of grapes ready to harvest.
This rain has now decided it find drops too subtle
And begins to send a steady stream
From heaven to earth, lines of water
Forming corridors of wet and overfilling the water table
Less words now than phrases, fully formed and developed,
Soon to become lines and stanzas
A bit overwrought because they are so full of the tears and sobs of grief
At the news of summer, who passed away just yesterday.
Sept. 23, 2011