is it really about the way fat drops bounce in puddles   or the dark clouds that drove away those happy blue skies   the incessant dripping and tapping on your roof or the single drop on your neck that made you curse?   maybe it’s about you, your blackened clouds, your soaked earth   watching tears that have yet to fall from a feeling you’ve hidden very well,   a reminder of a situation you could do something about   but will probably just wait wait till it passes   until the

with faded clues from murky waters, and an x-ray of a ship’s broken body, two men lift from a Spanish galleon off Florida, a thousand dripping silver coins that tumble onto a ship’s deck,   they found it, good for them!   you see, buried chests still exist you even have one inside you perhaps it hasn’t been opened for awhile, maybe the key is missing or rust has sealed it shut   if you can break the lock, I hope your excitement matches what you find inside

He loves this wall, puffs the pit bull’s master, trying to hold back the straining beast   So does mine, I say   to the curved garden wall corner house end of the street   a graffitied arc of dog watermarks, a sloppiness of canine autographs each overlaying a dozen others   after rain, all signatures dissolve and the first mutt to reach the bulletin board, lifts a leg and leaves a message   Hi, this is me, and when you get a chance, tell me a little about yourself