Arizona Rain by S.
rocking back and forth
on the white wicker chair
each sting of the glassy pearls
pricking the sheltering porch rail
humorously magnified
by the motionless of the wind
restless
weariness,
soaking in the rain
ba-rum-pum-pum only
by the drumming of my fingers
tapping the white wicker chair
so only the rain,
the welcome pitter-patter of the rain
the ching-a-ling-ling of the wind chimes
and my drumming echo
beyond trenched coat clouds
a broken resonance
as the steel droplets cut through the wind
leafy plumes reach out,
streched, and trembling
from so many dry days
so many seasons glanced over
swishhhhhhh...
a last enamored wash of rain
until nothing
but slowly sleeping morsels of dust
leftover droplets disguised as glass
the thankful, satiated flora
and my discordant tapping
remain.
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