if the rain fell,
drops tumbling
like clumsy rocketeers
like apologies
carefully chosen words
painted across the cheeks
of the bare earth

if the rain fell,
and it kept falling;
would you name each drop?
would you catch them
in your hands and
lace your fingers together
like little lovers
or the tangled strings
of an old harpsichord?

would you turn your face
to the amber sky
and feel the rain fall
onto your chin and run
down your neck
like the sweet nectar
from the first bite
of a ripe papaya?

would you let the rain write a novel
on your skin, allow it to inscribe
words of grace and redemption into
the crooks of your elbows,
the small of your back,
the place where your jaw meets your neck?

if the rain fell,
and it fell forever;
if cities and homes and factories
became dark glassy seas,
would you swim?
if the moon hung low in the sky
and the horizon was blurred
by a shuffling darkness
and the stars were blown out
like birthday candles,
if you had nothing left
but the knowledge that water
is just water, and love
is just love,
would you swim?
or would you take my hand
and drown with me?

would you use your last breath
to say, "thank you, rain,
for falling"?

because water is just water,
and love is just love,
but both can fill your lungs
so easily.

thank you, rain, for falling.