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  metaphors for rain



 every summer   hot  crickety cars
 twitch along limpid roads. the sky.sticky
with tar, slides into skin with an overnight
bag and  plans to stay a week


  evenings  smell of  the tin hook
you picked up rusted in the rushes
on the edge of the lake

 hydrogen and oxygen rustle and bustle
 surround   me with a peekaboo shroud
from inside waterstacks and
 the breaking of the sac
  floods down the leg of the sky

the wind   whips her hair into your fac
a hurricane when she's whirlwind
 and  nameless thunder a passionate  passion that archs
in the aftermath, a diver toward the drain

tell angels to take
 their kisses and place them
 on some other forehead for
 mine is blessed by holy water
 from a dripping tongue
and an element more basic than tears

on the front porch my
son and i blow bubbles
they barely birthiin the heavy  mist
 rising from the waterfall
of two sharp angles
  carressing above us


soooooooooooo he blows
 what about god?


  and the devil? i catch a small
bubble on my wand.well, um god

  hold on just a second...he places
his wand in the jar,  rinses his sticky hands
 in dribbles that still sputter
 from the roof, climbs into my lap
and says

at last!


then  the clouds are sun and the sun
is  fireflies of gold  in the wet air
and we are fish, taking a first breath

at last, at last, at last.