Drenched, the journal of memory

remembers elsewhere, other
places where the rain came

& came down. Weeks now &
this city washes into other cities,

not just here, calls back
water-filled streets we wadded

through & water-filled streets seen
at a distance on a little screen

we couldn’t turn away from, & then
some reprieve, a more gentle

recollection of childhood, porch
sleeping where the rain also was

& was more than welcome & stayed
all night & kept company.

 

 

 

 

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