a permeating terror of isolation and separation, people hiding from engagement with excuses about the way things are. The  rain is that obfuscation, dangers of miscommunication, that can’t be escaped by those who have no hiding place, and are  discounted. Yet, Earthly existence is cyclical. After rain there is drought, a chance to see from a different perspective.  

Hard Rain
beads between
eyes and scene
on this endless street.
Garish neon bleeds, recedes in hell-dark alleys.
Shadowy tricksters, their
exotic wares whisper through.
Rain, ubiquitous wet
sky to sodden ground, over 
sad mad months, eternal seasons.
Cinemas, bars, clubs,
gatherings of covering collars,
shiny leather, hurrying 
into dry enclosure.
Out here we soak oblivious
puddle to splash,
unable to tell tear from
mere atmospheric surrender.
Breathing in the rain.
Not drowning
all these years
of adaptation.
When the drought descends,
will it take my breath away?
Will arid clarity
unveil swollen eyes?
Who will emerge
without the terror
of the rain?