You say you love rain, but when it does you drizzle,

‘well that’s Seattle;’ when it’s summer

you shine, ‘now that’s why I stay.” You want the city

to match your tone. You stay inside for six months


D-deficient, safe in a cave telling stories

of sunshine. Every summer hour is booked

and you don’t see friends for weeks

without planning, yet a winter week


may wander by while you wonder

where everybody went. You carry a parasol

each day in July but you don’t even own

an umbrella. You sigh at rainclouds,

hide porcelain arms in shawls from the sun, and


spend that snowy night outside. Your favorite

days are when it rains from willow-wisps

of cloud in otherwise blue skies. You’ll fly a kite in that.


So don’t get up till noon, feed the geese at Gasworks,

and drink until the heat subsides. It is over 70

after all. Let it be dark and warm and drunk

and ride your bike home at midnight.


Let it be so busy you put off sleep until October.

Let nine months of rest be not enough

to coast through the summer. You may not have much,

but you know what to do. Trust.


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