Poem: When it Rains


Rain drops: small and sublime are sliding, tapping on my shoulder, bouncing with irregular rhthyms–a parade in the streets–marching, beating, like the step, step, and swing of the legs to the rag-tag big band blues, marked by its siren singster.  A Wetness chills to the bone, accompanied by each sharp stringed cry, in its quietude, mysterious yet symmetric, and synchronized to the ocho–stomp, stomp, and swing of the legs–and cresendo, repeat.

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