rain inside my brainwaves and the river running rapid so
you can see the raindrops hit the rapids and roll and further
down where the water falls and gathers in the big pond that
is sometimes almost still and silent like a membrane between two
worlds and I can see my reflection under the water looking at
myself with the sky above me, when the rain is falling, hitting
the pond, it becomes a dance floor for drops and bubbles,
percussion of all rhythms overlapping the dance of chances
taken and left behind…. instantaneuous choices that change
the course of the river further down . . . but whatever changes––
what stays the same is I keep heading for the ocean, fast or slow,
full or parched, drenched or dry, silent or loud or frenzied. . .
the rain inside my brainwaves, it falls, it evaporates, it falls….
I almost said again, again, but I’ve said again, so many times before.