You Stay Dry

summer is a wimp even when it rains. we are used to it but get wet.

when we are walking and angels make horseshoes in heaven

that thunder is a callous echo; a crying bride is a brighter bomb

and so we soak in it.

/

to remember all that wetness, to consolidate the rivers of summer rain is

impossible, it seems; but i have, i confess, in a vague dream

where i counted every drip, quantified the volume of its vigor,

the tax of its streaming universal acidic tang.

the rain of all planets, and the amount is a vice of god.

/

but i have noticed, when we are walking without an umbrella in

a summer storm, this vinegar does not penetrate your

duck feather life. dear mouse, i see you swimming in

the street like a rat with a fancy hat but you stay dry.