Rain can be invisible in the city;
Twenty stories up, it is colorless
Against the gray sky, gray lake.
One infers the rain from the air’s
Heaviness or the sounds of water
Spraying off car tires in the street.
Buildings cloak the rain so completely
That I long to see proof of its falling.
I descend, sit in a window, watch the puddles
Form at intersections, each raindrop sparkling
Briefly on impact under fluorescent bulbs.
Soon the pavement sprouts lakes and tributaries
And human frogs hopping from isthmus
To island to curb, and I am reassured –
Nature has not vanished, only chosen
To work secretly in occupied territory.