Please send the rain.
Send the rain to clear things,
and to wash the weekend off the streets.
I’m done waltzing around alleys
haunted and stark,
done pissing in those same alleys
when day turns dark
and the beer must be set free.
I watch it flow down in rivulets
picking up dust as it travels
eventually out to sea.

All roads lead to your alley
where we clamoured up rickety
fire escapes
to the very roof
that kept the rain off your bed –
our bed,
not now.

Send the rain
to make some mud
in the unpaved alleys of this dry, crusty town,
and I’ll walk down to your old courtyard,
looking for some discarded sketches
from the great artist you were becoming –
“Becoming” after half of a lifetime
of producing great art.

Please send the rain
that fell whenever your heart was broken.
I remember the cloud
that followed you around all last year.
You produced such soul-wrenching work.
I am heartened by your new renown.
It is the best reason I have ever been given
for going without water.

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