After the rain,
there be flood of joy,
there be pianist fingers
shaping the keys, tending
sounds to solace.
There be stray dogs
falling in love
over railway tracks,
there be dinners of taste
and wine unending,
after the rain.

After the rain,
there be confident stride,
there be sun rays milked
over cloud as I see daylight.
After the rain,
there be confetti in the sky,
there be cleaner blood,
crisp wind and salt in the air.
There be long walks
through the old park,
cardboard lots of treasure
and a peaceful guitar,
after the rain.

After the rain,
there be faded scars,
there be off-white reminders
of the passing of winter,
the tide of Spring, as tears
come over in the promise of day.
Beauty thawed out
and turned to ice-water,
dulling the drink of Aquarius;
he pours it out to the needy valleys
and all the humans
with their acquired tastes.
After the rain,
we drink together,
we drink as one
and we drink in one,
the diluted drink of the Gods,
after the rain.

After the rain,
I write with force,
I write with foresight
and a wit to say sorry.
After the rain,
there be no more anger,
there be no blame
for severed friends
and teenage excess of love
and turmoil.
After the rain,
there be no more waste,
there be no plastic existence
under the guise of these walls,
there be no flag-waving,
there be no election,
there be no shepherding
of sentient light,
no tendon to chew
and no blood to pour,
after the rain.

After the rain,
life will finally happen.
After the rain,
there be no more cloud.