driving rain

drops me off

with a thud,

into sunshine

 

dark shadows foretell

maids in waiting

after August.

 

We pretend

we’re not

refugees

 

disturbed

by brightness

 

knowing…

rain is gravity

in the Northwest

 

what we don’t see

is always here

 

if not now…

soon

 

and we hate to admit

the sigh that we feel

when we give up

our transient ways

 

and come home

to the welcoming

arms of wet