(The return of rain these last two months made me remember this piece...)
I lie in bed
listening to the rain,
to the whisper of TV
down the hall
where someone can’t sleep,
to the murmur in the pipes
and in her dreams.
I turn to her
and touch her shoulder.
Earth cycles its thirst –
rain, rivulet,
river, sea,
Sun and steam,
then rain repeat.
Her blue plasma
pulses in empathy,
lung to heart,
artery to extremity –
tides ever pounding
on the cell shore.
I turn to her
and touch her shoulder.
Love wends
in rounds as well –
hunt and urgency,
spat and attraction,
break a sweat
in the bed,
grow old,
but still be rain.
