Ode to a Wet Day

Finally,
drought diluted
humidity hovers,
and the big gray
hangs low,
bloated and bursting.

Window panes
dribble and pop,
and I sink
into tub,
into moments
dulcet and damp.

Beads creeping
along hairline
lifting limbs
for rivers
rounding down
the landscape of me.

I surrender,
lay, and let
the clunk
of a leaky
faucet
count time.


All Rights Reserved: Elizabeth Bohlander Wilson