Allegretto Lentissimo

Rain on our rooftop, dribbling, draining down 
the side of the house and across the concrete 
walkway my grandfather poured, all of this new 
moisture pouring back toward the sea. The air 
moves counter-tempo, slow rolls from ocean 
onto land, a white mist upon thirsty soil, smoke 
overlaid, rain gathering, silencing fetid reek
with wet. I am so very grateful for the patter 
on skylights, the cooling air, the way my husband 
wraps his arms around me as we look to changing 
weather. Chosen, explored and confronted, it might 
promise something beyond metronome ticking, 
the warning of this new pattern, this heat. Dim
puddles from our past and of our future. Time 
passes through like wind over water. 

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