In Praise of Rain

Rain fills
the bruises of earth,
flows from the facade of structures
into dust covered streets.

Dust assembles on graves
under the bed, inside the bible
until a crosswind, an opening
re-assembles it elsewhere.

Air in my lungs, in my heart
like the voice of the poor
like the void of humankind.
Nothing a little love can’t cure.

Your house burns down
and all you thought was you
is now scattered ashes.
Ashes, wet from the fire hose nozzle.
Kids in the neighborhood watch in amazement.

Here’s what happens when you die:

A bottle is thrown from a passing car.
It shatters and spills its remaining contents on the asphalt.
A small portion of the contents is absorbed into the ground.
The rest is absorbed by the atmosphere.
They will eventually rain elsewhere.
Fragments from the broken bottle are hit by sunrays.
Glass angles break the sun down into lights of different colors.
Kids in the neighborhood watch with amazement.
Somewhere in the world the sky turns to cinder.

DQ 9/1/06