The Rain Came Down (for Brian Slaughter)

We met before a rain storm, swapped lion roars, brain stormed synonymous and made promises for poetry. I felt our laughter stretching out from planes to mounts and sent a bolt to split the clouds. “Why does joy escape” I sighed but knew good times though fleeting always cycle, heavy wash, a cleansing whirl.

And when the rain came down I was a prisoner, sickly and fathomed, blinking slow through mumbles when thunder cooled the air, smoothed out our faces, and the sky poured out.

A trillion coronas frothed from the drunken tarmac and on each crown a jewel of water housed a point of dust. And drought washed out.

I shivered with each inhale, muscles fired with panicked tension, let the denim hold me close and soak a million bits of melted snow. And is it strange that when the skies close we feel freedom, like each drop was a spark over an empty field on a blistering night.

We swam down streets on steel frames as friction smoothed our tungsten pads and dots of light splintered into static waves . Our passion dragged us into alleys and over bridges, hungry for libation, drowning in ambition.  

Cielo, backlit, heard your name and  plasma rippled through airborne veins as long as this city, as this state.

We met before a deluge but now I think of rivers moving down your green-stained window and let the rain come in.