Monday, February 2, 2009



The rain ceases, leaving wrinkles
upon the earth; plumes of clouds
float sluggishly overhead,
depleted of energy.

Worms expelled from soggy soil
create undecipherable script
upon the moist sidewalk, native
code talkers furtively communicating.

Watery diamonds quiver upon
a single strand of spider silk,
embellishing the uplifted arm
of a fir swaying to a rumba beat.

Rain-pasted leaves fashion
a collage of environmental textures
alongside the river running brown
with the flesh of the mountains.

A shivering wind creates rings
that echo across scattered puddles.
Along the pathway miniature craters
comprise a moonscape on which I stroll.

Stars swim in puddles and river
and I recall memories of grunion dancing
on a California beach one sultry
summer evening, defying my grasp.

The fragrance of grass after the rain
is a breathtaking essence
of renewal and beginnings,
an aide memoire of growth.

I witness the writing of water
across windows, and covet
its clarity.

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