When the sun comes out again,
the bare sycamore branches
are cloaked in tiny worlds,
each a perfect sphere reflecting the sun -
rainbows in liquid form.
Crystal balls telling of the past
cling tight and then succumb to gravity
making the earth new again.
The largest drops become
private drinking fountains
while the bigger birds call
ollie ollie oxen free -
time to come out from hiding
time to resume the business of living.
And as the giant continents
shift in the sky,
fallen tree blossoms litter the ground
like New Years day in Times Square.
A grumpy squirrel jumps from limb to limb
making it rain just on him, like in a cartoon,
and he looks more like a drowned rat
than any wet cat I've ever seen.
I notice the moss on a roof two streets away
and think of Elton John and Your Song,
finally understanding the lyric that I used to think was:
"Sat on the roof and kicked off to Mars"
but the a-frame of this house is too steep
for siting or kicking or blasting off.
And as the world's loudest child
who lives behind my building
stomps through puddles
in uncharacteristically silent awe,
I notice that my headache is gone -
Just like the rain.
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