by Samuel De Lemos
I open the door and the streets are wet.
I let that vibe cascade into my home.
I invite the rainfall into my soul.
I watch my poems drip one-by-one,
from a battered cheery tree out front.
I raise my arms in obeisance and
welcomed the heavenly libation;
even if the honking horns and emergency
sirens try to drown-out the precipitation
from all those pregnant clouds above.