Rain Bathing

    
Mostly I’m laid
on my back, you know,
as I watch the sky roll over;
and I listen
to the drums
with a beer-bottle on my chest.
It tries its level best, I think, to take
these
raindrops
and cast them from me
into forever,
never asking if there is better,
yet to come or still
to be,

and it hums its way inside of me,
to soothe when I promise it kisses
and I let its wet blessings
caress my sun-touched skin,
until it sinks its gentle claws in,
changing and curling
my feathered wings
that feel
there has been
eternity
since they were allowed to fly.

So I close my weary eyes, and sigh,
as I lay back; the water’s feast,
and I suppose that I am thankful,
for the splashes on my brow
(and the taste on my tongue)
and the shivers in the cold
at least.