Waking to the cadence of rain, I am reminded of all that is washed away..the drops beat upon my roof as if it were a drum, as if it had a poem to decode on sidewalks. Rain, as street musicians visiting coffee shops and storefronts, little lanes and churches, continuing until the clouds have been bled dry, exhausted as if one had cried all morning, finally collapsing in peace. We are there, dear, somewhere in the melody, drained of our pulse, now drifting into gutters and rivers, silent witnesses swelling with the song of rain. We lie as lacquer on stone and bricks, kissing budding leaves, and crying onto crocus, with finches singing harmony in pools of us. I…will drown for our memory in each droplet.