Tuesday, July 17, 2007


Rainmaker works on a scaffold of vapor
washing the dust from the windows of sky
sweeping the streets clean of dead leaves and paper
drawing the curtain to hide the sun’s eye.
Rainmaker, rainmaker, does the sun cry?
Is it your job to conceal her grieving,
covered in cumulus, hidden on high,
under your cloak of the rain-spider’s weaving?
Rainmaker, some may accuse you of thieving,
stealing the sunshine of summer away,
others will choose to continue believing
summer could only be ours for a day,
others will seek consolation for pain
in summertime overcast, sweet-falling rain.

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