A pouring cleansing rain
Dust becomes mud and fleshy
Leaves spread into action
Paintings if you can picture
That sort of metaphor
Entering a homeless mind
Houses slipping down hillsides
Sirens in the distance
But I write to you because it’s raining
Just to tell you it’s raining
It’s still raining finally
Not fiercely or randomly
But consistently and steadily
Like a true sadness or joy
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