the mercy of the heavens
yesterday the mountain spoke
with a raspy, parched voice
green going to brown
supple turning to crisp
today the clouds heard and answered
with half a day of rain
and such chill damp
that I split wood and lit the stove
tomorrow I will go out
into the newly wet and green world
to smell loosed resin and steaming duff
and recollect the appearance
of a simple answered prayer
breathless, Termas de Jurasi
watching how the raindrops
bounce back into the air
carrying more water with each one
how the resulting rings
spread and interfere
it takes my breath away
or maybe it’s that
we are immersed in hot springs
watching clouds rise
out of the fiery earth
or that we are up so high
all well and sparkling
even when the world is slowing down
for all those reasons
and a lifetime more
I take deep quick breaths
gazing at these three beloved faces
each one lengthening toward age
held by warm water
not worrying about what’s next
rainy day ramblings
i
am I doing enough
to earn my time here?
(and, is it possible to also read a book?)
ii
rain on rose petals
silver linings everywhere
iii
companion = [with] [bread]
this also delimits my friend/acquaintance line:
who can I invite in next
to serve a warm thick slice?
the words around us bear
the weight of deep meanings
we don’t even bother consciously knowing
from now on companion will have
a more complex, savory taste
every time it rolls around my mouth
SPF infinity
the middle-aged cashier gives
the inevitable antipodal greeting:
How ya goin’?
all business in her short sensible haircut
and utilitarian bifocals
she scans things quickly
leaves them on the belt
for us to pack ourselves
then suddenly stops
seizes a bottle
looks at it quizzically
What’s this? she says
and I almost answer
it’s sunscreen
before I catch the twinkle
in her eye
We’re feeling optimistic
I say weakly
while rain lashes the store windows
but she just smiles
and shrugs
contentment
how many days in paradise
before
a day’s worth of rain
sounds idyllic?
the river grows
at lunch the friendly waiter explains
in a month from now
when the rains come
water will cover
all these rocks
we murmur in surprise
sit placidly on the same rocks
after our meal
retire to our room
and then the rain starts
slow at first
uneven pings that could be monkeys
then the usual short steady afternoon shower
then it changes, drives down in pounding lines
the whole scene a gray blur of
air displaced by water
shingles shoot past the open woven window
and the stream beside the lodge
becomes a chocolate surge
it pounds on like this all afternoon
until I wonder
what’s a cyclone like?
then I remember to check the river –
the rocks are gone, a month early
each one washed by
the galloping white waves studding
thick brown ropes of river
racing away from the rain
bringing the mountain down with it
Thanks to Cedar for helping to type this one up!
who owns the rain?
in a thousand villages
in a hundred towns
in a dozen cities
people argue right now:
who owns the rain?
in a western water court
old men hear cases
weigh the rights of farmers and fish
consider the adage
first in time first in line
gauge what use is beneficial
collect money to buy life
decide with finality
who owns the rain?
in Botswana
money = pula
and pula = rain
the earth’s heart is carved
into mountains of tailings
to exhume sparkling rocks
while some drink salt
hoping for a new borehole
weathering drought wondering
who exactly owns the pula?
in Colorado
you had to be a renegade
to steal the water off your roof
every ounce of the rivers
already over-allocated
bought and paid for
by who knows who
you had to be brave to rebel
to catch that daily liquid thunder
and defiantly say
I claim this rain
roses in rain
the smell of wild roses makes me weep
she said
conjuring the overwhelmingly poignant joy
that’s bound to put you over the edge
feet sunk into velvety dune sand
while waves build and collapse
for thousands of miles before you
soon as you slip one behind an ear
the petals fall
but the scent stays
sometimes I put a petal on my tongue
like a communion wafer
eager to embody sweetness somehow
today after the thunderstorm
they’re windblown and blowsy
petals plastered to leaves
spangled with tiny crystal balls
so heartbreakingly beautiful
I forget about trying to read the future
just tuck one behind my ear
breathe in joy all day
Swamp Monster Ballad
when that rain it starts a-drummin’
you’ll know he’s drawin’ near
and that moss green giant monster
‘ll make you quake with fear
his long legs they’ll start a-pumpin’
and his nylon it’ll flap
and the sound of his cavortin’
‘ll send ya racin’ to yer Pap
through shaking fingers ‘gainst yer eyes
you may dare to peek
at this wet and wild wonder
who never seems to speak
no, his frenzied dance is silent
splashing’s the only sign
of this disco-dancin’ boogie-man
who rises from the mine
oh he lives down deep amongst the dark
of Kentucky Boy’s steep shaft
and comes above to jig about
when he hears the thunder crack
‘specially in a new moon storm
or so I’ve heard it said
and ev’ry month when that orb wanes
my heart it fills with dread
for if his damp hand claws for your’n
and gets it in his grasp
you’re doomed to waltz away yer days
in his cold ‘n’ clammy clasp
so when you see that lightnin’ flash
or hear the thunder boom
best scoot inside as quick as ya can or
puddle-dancin’ ‘ll be yer doom
