Rainy Season (Poetry)

The old pines shower off their pollen-scented limbs —
are cleansed by the steady hiss of rain
the gutters croon their fullness — spray the wall
where brick absorbs — accepts its share of pain.

I am the house that weathered out love’s fiercest storm —
your hurricane of passion whipped me raw
but I withstood that crazy battering — replaced
lost tiles — some shattered glass —a blown-in door.

Restored — I am repainted slick against the wet —
rogue gales can’t harm me now my heart keeps dry
yet when the rainy season comes it resurrects
some ache that lingers... troubling and sly.

I envy trees their ecstacy — their brazenness
they welcome the experience and thrive
on such attention — all the elements can throw —
they stand there — flushed with morning — so alive!

Now — far out on thought’s horizon — the clouds hang full
dark grey your eyes — your laugh a thunder-roll
that may or may not promise rain — the chances are
I’ll lift the blinds a little on my soul

and risk the sky’s unholy fire — its random stab
and feel your gushing breath stream out my hair —
blow the dust from corners — sweep all my bare boards clean —
my rooms made fresh — strewn flowers on the stair.