the wet brown deck planking
repels the the holidays invading
raindrops

I count the ones that bounce up
until the nth,
a scientific notation number,
achieves the mystical numerology status of
"a lot"

so,
not even eight am,
already have fallen in love,
two or three times,
once more

she's a
'all night long'
restless sleeper,
mouth moaning and body thrumming,
yet her smooth forehead is without lines,
those tree marks demonstrable
of the passage of
time in human time lines

breathing slow and at last resting quiet,
I count love vows renewed as
my glancing dewy-drops,
but tally only the ones that bounce,
reappearing as wet tears
upon my
foolish face

thus, even heavenly raindrops numbered,
have a mystical competitor,
love glance-drops,
in common,
both,
achieving the numerology status of
magical mystery called

"a lot"