comes in sideways
beating the roof, flooding
the basement,
splintering the boards.
not all rains
fill
the streams and take
with them
the old trees.
wooded debris.
not all are storms
with thunder
and lightning in the mix,
some are just gradual
events, slow,
almost poetic in a literary
sense.
starting out with a few
drops
and then a gentle
pour
until it's a soft parade
of wetness,
and sheen.
the black streets dark
no more.
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