COLD FRONT (for Snuzie)

Lightning sparks; clouds darken.

Spatters start. I smile.
You close the window,
I shut off the dying fan.

The TV set succumbs to static.
Water flows upon the land.
Nature pulls the plug.
Welcome breezes flap the awning.
Shutters bang; we laugh.

You sit astride me,
I come pearls and glassy cream
up into a womb that hovers.
You ask, from a dream:
Like this? My Love?
I grin.

Liking Rain

I think of rain as periodicity,punctuation,
if you like,
needed like grammar needs light
expression,
the earth, it's children, you and I
cannot live unless the firmament opens,
and birds sing just after.

I think of rain in a new way,
no longer umbrellas or dirty streets,
or hated fumes from taxi
tailpipes,
city strangers soulessly dashing for cover
from nothing
more than a drop in ponchos.

I think I think,
then watch the trace of a wayward
bubble,
sliding down the window on your side,
a gift from
summer,
while you softly breathe,
sleeping on your side,
on a June afternoon in our bed.

I think of rain differently,
and I was odd to despise it.
And you were kind to be around me,
liking rain,
till I caught on, patient you:
till I stumbled upon what you already knew.
Now I watch for
the prism over town
late in the afternoon,
and the fresh note the robin chirps
when showers end and the world is new.
11:13 AM