Listening to the Rain

(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.