Seattle drizzle is cold
like tears that left their maker
too many years ago.
I watch them from my table,
against a backdrop
of bricks and alleys.
So many of us try to count them
from bus windows and attics,
but there are too many to name them all,
so we all begin to drum the song—
of a million naked rain drops
hurling bodies to the ground.

written on 01/11/2010 by: Matt Kane