There are rain days of drenching
and
crazy laughter;
and
I’ve known enough of these
cloud-break
clothing
sneaking
through cloth impediment
to
commune with skin’
I’ve
taste that water
on
hair and breast,
and
it has even burnt
cheek
and finger.
There
are days of drenching
made
of finest drizzles
that
said ‘monsoon on the way, go home’
and
pinned an after-thought,
‘monsoon
on the way, so what?’
There
are days of drenching
made
by after-rain dampness
and
they come with landscape-altering colour
incredible
greens against impossible blacks,
and
fairy-tale haze.
There
are days of drenching
made
of rain-absence
when
sun and dust and wilting vegetation
bring
all the rains that have fallen
and
all the rains that must
someday.
I
can’t remember the last time I got wet, brother.
Ooooopz burnt....
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