Normally I see rain as a prop for movies
but this morning it was biblical. My elaborate
intuition was saying the world was doomed
and the weather was nodding indeed. Then my
neighbor’s dog strode by in a yellow raincoat
and it was good. My grandma called and I realized
she speaks in aphorisms and platitudes; her sentences
have always been like pieces of a puzzle
anyone can complete, a map of the United States,
each chunk a state. There may be a mix-up with the
Dakotas, but it’s easily worked out. After
years of reprinting and squabbles, they watered
down the bible that way. I can’t get it verbatim,
but I’d like a boilerplate copy of what god wanted
us to know. The message was muddled
and contradictory. I’m full of nerves astride
the late galloping beast of news ancient and novel.  
In the wild anything deadly has a beauty that
can be divided from its danger. I’m counting
the seconds at the sink washing my hands singing
“Happy Birthday To You,” a song a court ruled
belonged to the public. I’m livening up with
adjustments to the lighting, studying dialogue
from conversations an hour old. Any hour,
any thought returns to language. In the beginning
there was this loneliness.
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