Sometimes rain comes flouncing in

–a drama queen, a prom queen, 

maybe even a bride,

full of flounce and rustle.

She throws her arms out,

shakes her boobies.

Sometimes she lands with a thud

other times her back arches

as her partner leans over 

nearly kissing her.

She dances and twirls all around us 

until the middle of the night

when she flings her skirts, her feet pirouetting,

flinging precious rain,

like she’s throwing cubic zirconias on trees.

The earth drinks

We all drink.

The rain has come in time

for the corn to tassle

and the beans to flower. 

We will hear it grow 

if we stand still and listen. 

The horse pushes open the barn door 

to look out just as lightning 

and thunder speak in time. 

I look out to check the barn.

It was not struck. 

The following evening,

the rain has changed clothes,

donning browns and grays and oranges.

She touches her hand to a dragon’s head

before she sends him to race 

around a track on fire. 

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