all the summer’s drought of rain

slants down now in autumn sheaves

crashing off umbrella edges,

transforming this huge window to a vertical pool.

having been around and around the world,

this water is now temporarily destined

for boston harbor’s chilly swash

before lifting off again.

i move in this city as a stranger, gawking

like i have been transported to a movie set,

the people, buildings, cars half real, half roger rabbit.

jaw slack, it comes inside me

rapid fire sense-landscape tumbling, ever new

even though i still don’t really believe in it,

still certain i am walking in toon town.

it helps when i see it’s creature-ness lumbering,

transportation of nourishment down asphalt arteries

thrum of city breathing in breathing out

we are just organelles that wear raincoats

vital little energy generators.

and, rushing off to do our jobs, help this animal live.

the dark sodden evening lights up with

golden squares stacked in stories

behind which people move --

mystery of a red sweatshirt flash goes by,

now some people are eating dinner,

here somebody plays a trumpet that i can’t hear.

the roiling life of this city, and the key to it’s mad magic,

is in tiny secret motions of cellular beings

playing out behind infinite window stages.

i can’t tell if i long to unravel them all

or whether the greater joy

is to marvel, revel

in the pregnancy of collective veiled mystery.

i am a visitor here, but everywhere is the same –

our tiny flashes combine into a great coordinated light.

we live protected if we are lucky,

wrapped snug in some cytoplasm or other,

looking out at the rain.