Letting Go At Last

raindrops slide,
stop, tremble
and then let go and run
down the window
in surrender
to the relief
of turning loose
their death grip
on the window pane.

beyond that
water-veined glass
tall trees lean
into the wind and then
whip away in relief
to give up and be ravaged
in smacks of wet windy
winter lips kissing in
moaning fury.

on the sill, here
with me inside
tendrils trail up
up and away,
straining against
the heat and reaching
into the cool air relief
bringing great incense
of smoky espresso promise.

and I relax,
letting go at last
like the rain
on the window,
like the tree
in the wind,
like the steam
in the air
just letting go.

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Standing in the Rain

My umbrella of fear
got blown inside out.
Her-ricanses cleansing and
Grace-Gales grasping, mending,
knitting.

Can you imagine stark rendings,
scouring removal of years,
assumptions imposed,
paradigms of creaky and stale
rheumy simpleness?
They sucked!  But they were
something present,
(Stockholm is more than a city!)

And the rain falls,
drives and pelts down
and on and in…
soaking, clammy, draining

But my umbrella is now moot, and
I (with ships and song) am
standing in the rain.

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