The rain trampolines on a spider’s web, glistenson the fur of a muskrat crossing the road, bounces off the pavement like grease in a hot skillet.
The rain falls in the sleep of wheat farmers, pulled by gravity through diaphanous spaces, beading on umbrellas, faces cursing its name.
The rain changes to snow, white swans, and back to rain before disappearinginto the fire.
The rain, an affliction, seeps between bones, stiffens the joints, breaks the sun into ribbons, becomes a word and the word evaporates on the tongue.
The rain washes volcanic dust down gutters, drips from the cold chimney, taps methodically, a pulse filling a bucket that must be emptied every morning.
"Oregon Rain" was first published in Washout, and later appeared in Deer Drink the Moon.
