Pit Pat

A soaked skull weighs down intrusive thoughts

While pattering drops cuts through white noise.

In evenings with rainfall, footsteps lose rhythm

Giving way to a heartbeat or whisper.

Rain brings reflection, on the path and in the mind.

What pool visions do you see?

Does the face peering back look younger

Ready to stomp on the shimmering moment?

Or perhaps a visage inhuman, of future, of present,

Of choices, small as they were at the time.

Here is the visage that stares back at me;

I see a face of relief

Where the speed of reality has formed mist,

Slow, passionate, calm.

Yet

Rain is moments.

Eventually, we become idioms

Making hurried steps towards what was always the destination;

Shaking off uncomfortable truths, making way for comfortable listlessness.