Rainfall trods past like distant troops tonight.
Raindrops pile in blurred puddles reflecting
lightning strikes of streetlights. Where is your light
tonight? I’d stride through pellets deflecting
off pavement like senses bombarding our
brief lives if I felt you’d welcome my soaked
body, that your body wouldn’t cower
to my slick, warm arms, let my torso cloak
you as I’d stroke you soft as gardeners
tend flower petals, let you enfold me
as water encloses swimmers, tender
response to their smooth, rhythmic reverie.
Do you see me outside your door? I call
from your curb: Let me hold you in rainfall!
Roger Armbrust
November 15, 2010
