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A Nohwa Rain
<< 10:17 a.m. - Monday, Jun. 28, 2010 >>
These days there is rain.
An afternoon with water droplets suspended in the air.
Tonight, its sound surrounds our house.
Wet wet wet as if the nearby ocean rose
and began licking the bricks.
This house evermore
an island.
You and I domestically captive.
You and I.

An island unto ourselves.
Attentive to inches undiscovered.
Inquisitive to the mainland we left behind.
Water follows moon.

Last night there was no rain.
Only the warm wind that flooded the open window
of Samís car
It met my face in smell-memory.
I did this before/ never.
The lights searched the uneven road
with spidery half tracks cutting rice paddy
and Nohwa reeds.
Maintained from wild.

We are here here here.
There there there.
Moving.
Gone.

Breathing to acknowledge the rising tide.
Breathing to recall the sinkable ship island.
Iím curling up to you you you.
Heartbeat, warm chest, firm grip
Tideís coming in.
Tideís going out.

But the island remains.
Visible or not.