I want to be with you when the weather shifts.
Scent of copper and earth rising to meet us
back deck. When the rain cannot decide
whether to come or collapse, we linger
under the umbrella, listening to Phish
through the screen. “It’s not raining that
hard, but the clouds are moving fast.”
“It’s funny,” she says. “There’s something
beautiful about the fact the rain is falling
way up there—but still it falls gently.
Isn’t that spectacular?” It is, and
without putting holes in our skulls.
Not sure how long we sat there,
but eventually we went to bed,
dry but not dry, inside but touched
by the hand of rain. We had to,
go to bed, in keeping with the design,
the instructions remain missing.
Eric Steineger is the Senior Poetry Editor of The Citron Review and Editor of Zest, the book review section of Citron. His poetry and prose have been featured in such places as Waxwing, The Los Angeles Review, Rattle: The Poets Respond, and The Blue Mountain Review. He lives in Nashville with his wife and daughter.