bobby (right as rain, again)

bobby

i knew you were there
as the very sky poured its broken
heart down, sagging the fir boughs
with the weight of your loss

i laid there, on the tattered quilt, laid
across that day-bed, chin in my hands,
watching the massive drops pouring
off the autumn eaves in steady, drumming rythm

the backs of my hands were soaked
with my own rain (of racking sorrow),
but the hair on my neck was dry and
erect, as if your very breath were on it.

for every drop of memory dripped
through my brain, cutting, like a plow blade,
turning up the deep, brown soil of my
emotion, opening my earth to the magic rain.

out in the driveway, huge
puddles have grown, like spots
on a banana, spots of age, on my hands, splashed
with sobs and molten disbelief

so many tiny ponds, filling-up
with my anger and bitter loss,
each a small mirror, filled
with reflections of laughter, and grey, ominous clouds

each, with its own small tale
to tell; and yet, from high
above, it is ALL one picture,
spread across this earth,
tears, and seas, over centuries.