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.