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On the Corner

On The Corner

I have stepped out to the corner
as the rain is singing stories,
drifting softly like dandelions,
whipping puddles like willow wands,
leaping, laughing from tires.

Back inside there’s too much dryness;
too much breathing, too much talking
people sing in praise of shelter
huddled close against the dampness
slandering the rain.

Out here, though, there are colors;
lights splash and paint the sidewalk;
they daub and smear in glistens,
run swirling down the gutters
as drops batter down the beams.

Back in there I felt no kinship,
when the dry songs they were singing
had a meaning that was different;
did not match the rain-drunk humming
that was thrumming in my brain.

Here dark, wet streets are smiling,
they sing friendly songs of welcome;
and the tinkle of the colors,
the blaring of the street lights
match the music in my heart.

So I turn my back on shelter
and I lift my soggy collar,
twist my face into a pucker,
and step out into the darkness
whistling love songs to the rain.


3 Responses

  1. Can only be a Northwesterner

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