Water showers the back streets.
Drip, drop, drip.
On facades of brick houses perch
lanterns glowing with artificial flame.
There might be love behind those walls,
but I wouldn’t know, nor do I care.
Love exists in different ways.
I love the rain. I love how
the colors run on the thoroughfare.
Reds mix with yellow and green—
a true watercolor mural reflecting
the shapes of people passing by.
Those who sidestep puddles but fail
as passing trucks splash them anyway.
Those who walk with children, and with dogs.
Loud people, quiet people—all trying
to get to where they’re going as fast as they can.
I slow down in the rain.
I drive through the city and marvel
at the sights of skyscrapers laid flat
on the pavement. Who looks tall now?
And when my breath projects
outward and my exhaust is visibly
mixed with those from cars passing by—
I feel as though I’m a part of something.
I don’t feel that way often—and that’s okay.
But it’s also why I pray for more rain
and its energy that matches the way
that I’ve been created.
Water showers the cobblestone paths.
Drip, drop, drip.
I let the water run over my hands,
a silent thank you to the clouds.