Right from a distance where I sit
I could gaze at the needles of the summer rain
that plunge in gallant vindication
soft like the cascade of a child’s tresses at daylight.
If only I could pause the times I was with you
and save them up for a little later
If only there were more reasons for you to sit with me again
say for example, this rain in the middle of summer—
unplanned, so transient that it could be gone any minute now
Say for example, my stories you’ve been wanting to read.
Right from where I extend the pelted battleground of my palms
I could catch and compile the needles of the summer rain
so there would remain a reminiscent of the cold ocean
as I tirelessly wait for fragments of water to arrive again.
24 March 2014 | Timberland Heights