the secret spilling of the sun
out of everyone,
from around the corners
of little shops with little books,
and umbrellas dripping,
hung with little hooks.
the secret spreading of the dawn,
accross soaked fields.
wake, and see, the way the world'll be dry today
we're sweeping up our stores,
nine o clock they shop
and we'll have business back once more.
children shouting to the sky, as it
packs its bags, takes its clouds,
and like a song, or
sounds and sights return to meet
the eyes and ears
of children playing in the streets.
with bells and cheer:
a march, a dance,
a trumpet umfurling of petal, brush,
of thicket, copse;
that sweet romance.
and now amid
all this debris
like bugs we slowly make our way
from house to house and soul to soul
assessing damage lost to the toll
of long and drawn-out summer storms
where rain beats down
and all we've worked
so hard for seems to tumble to the ground.
where nights pass huddled in fear
and sunlight never does come near.
that in mind we'll
mind the damage
mind the harm.
inventory all our friends, though
its true there will be storms again,
we'll smile big and smile small
glad to have lived the rain at all,
and now, the next day.
life is wind and rain and pain, and wet,
and still it says, 'see?'