• I don’t remember if it was raining,
    The first time we met,
    Or the countless times after that.
    But vividly, I recall, talking endlessly
    As the grey deluge hummed against
    The window panes, thinking that something new
    Had been born, baptized by the summer rain.

    Hesitance washed away, Purity remained.
    From the mundane to the nonsensical
    Tones hushed in contemplation, heavy with ideas
    Then blossoming seamlessly into laughter
    What is it? Dissect it! Define it!
    Hush . . . why does it matter,
    When it’s as uncomplicated as air?

    We talked of love letters,
    Beer-battered onion rings & the death of gods.
    I wrung water from my skirt, a smile from your lips.
    & I thought, how sweet it is to be loved how I loved to be.
    Barefoot, face upturned to the rain
    We walked along empty streets, the rain sighing around us
    Laughter streaming bright in the storm
    Will you receive this poet’s confession that all her words are useless?

    And now the rain falls lightly, gentle as a prayer
    Coaxing life of the empty soil.
    I think of your smile, my new favorite thing.
    & of the chain between us.
    Afraid the sun will prove it to be an illusion, but it remains
    gleaming like silver, gossamer-fine
    Forged of the rain.