Summer Rain Enter

Watching the blacktop darken
She imagines each drop a home,
A family,  wetting the surface of the universe
Then slowly              slowly            fading away—
 
Her son is swinging his feet above the universe
He likes to watch trucks go past
On the road in front of them
He likes the creaking patience of the swing
He doesn't like to wear shoes—
 
She waits for him to say mom or love or
            cat—
But words are slow,   he grunts
And utters but his mouth won't form
That language she knows—
 
She knows his face   his  arms   his eyes
So well she almost forgives herself
For trading town for a mountain—
 
But only sometimes—
 
Forgiveness is slower than rain
Though rain fills up their sky.