Showers Likely

Dry corner of a gazebo leaking
in the rain, naturally
seeking patterns, meaning

in fingertaps on canvas roof.
Almost apophenic.
Give me a sign, I asked
a year ago, morning
shower. Sunbeam through the window,

then the water
before my eyes,
then the rainbow, inches away,
untouchably far.
“We need space.”

Right up there with
“It’s not you,
it’s me.” “We’ll still be

friends.” Seeking patterns
in chaos, sense and antisense.
In our DNA, perhaps. Prisms,
covenants, tricks of the scattered
light, or not. Still, no one gets out totally dry.



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