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by Bobbi S. Rudin
Two days of steady rains. River banks rise.
I witness through mottled window
the deluge of droplets that turn dry desert dust
into muddy runoff down slick ebony street.
Clouds pace as beaded ripples of precipitation
slice through stagnant, dehydrated air. Constant
pitter patter against wind chimes and on puddles
that grow in browned grass mix into melody.
Musk of wet pavement and thirst quenched dirt seep
under door frames and cracks into the room, enter nostrils
mesmerize mind in sense scintillation. My eyelids lower,
then close, unable to resist the pull to sink deeper
into pillowed mists of restfulness.