
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.