#22 Kevin Brophy 'Coughing gods'

Ah, the rain, the way it
leans over and fills us like vases
one by one around the place
up to our ears in its gift.

Ah, the rain, the way it
sketches us as faintly
pencilled outlines in streets
washed grey.

Ah, the rain, the way it
is announced by the clearing
of throats in a choir of
coughing, cloud-hidden gods.

Ah, the rain, the way it
goes by its own schedule,
wrinkles edges of maps, books,
loves cotton bags, newspapers

and trees.