Rain

Puddle Wonderful (post coital)

Like coming up for air,
as in those first
snug seconds,
when one comes to at dawn-
awash in the wake
of some clear dream.

A pain soothed,
a valve opened,
a note struck true
and round.

Wobble legged meanderings
through rain laden Central Park-
the air all tang and leaf rot.

The visceral revulsion to
plodding patterns of
public pablum is,
for a time, eased.

The world, a surface,
a seeming silvered pool
gone ringing into slivery
splinter musics in the
mirrored mind's shard garden.