It's raining-- her
favorite short lived
season of Los Angeles.
Waves propagate.
It's all a messy
interference pattern
on our pool's surface
disturbed with memories,
tiny droplets, tears
from Savior's sky.
Perhaps it feels similar
to old emerald
Vietnam ponds, except
here the rain
doesn't go on for too long,
unless it's a Hemingway rain.
It makes me wonder
if it's not Monsoon
season yet. Our tiny pool
built for Valley deluge,
would flood faster
than any sandbags
could delude.
She never asked
how long to fight
just kept on walking
cooking and loving
until her heart grew
too weary.
In the end, three loops
around the swimming
pool in the rain is enough.
It's the same as walking
5K while doing dialysis.
She sits next to me
on our outdoor swing
chair, and smiles,
rested.