find yourself longing for the rain?
not thinking, “oh, wouldn’t it be nice if I could look out….”
but actually with your body
like that old hunger for sex
wanting, like the lavender drooping in the pot
aching for the cool turn of the air
for the drumbeat of drops on your skin?
And when it comes, the luxuriant
sliding on of soft layers,
the going out,
the coming in again.
And then the guilty quiet
for the sun?