Rain

 Rain

wrings the planet out,
storms strip the compass bare—
east,
north, west, and south.

A would-be dictator

lectures the wildfire
on restraint,
warning an indifferent enemy
it would be wise
to stop fighting.

What a ridiculous man,
arguing with the tide,
as if facts
could be voted away.

We are all drowning.
Them too.

Don't look up.

The lucky Linseys
have already slipped
through the exit door.

The runaway train
has frozen
inside the Rockies,
while Dumb and Dumber
shop the clearance aisles,
packing closets
already swollen

with tomorrows
no one will wear.

Meanwhile,
the mother ship
warms its engines,
ready
for the last departure.

Still,

I wait
for the sun
to find a seam

in the clouds.

I pull on my rain poncho,
walk the trail,
splash through the puddles,
and listen
for birds reckless enough
to sing anyway.

The storm
is not forever.

Neither,
I remind myself,
is despair.

…