My number nine thought this morning

is of you beyond our high picket fence

Like Tim's neighbor you remain a mystery

even after your identity's been forged

 

Thought number seven was of you also

I dream in sevenths, the ninths

were always meant for jazz

 

I have an appointment in an hour with a downpour

I will drape my yellow raincoat in Bigbird fashion

upon my staunch and able shoulders

chuckling inside in great anticipation

of the moment that I tear it off

to stand unguarded in driving, angled, rain

 

You are both a dream and an enigma

enigma dreams are real at times

they start and stop, to and fro

appearing to have little purpose

until one reads between the lines

still, they depart softly, giving way to morn'

leaving only questions and the hush of heart

as clear evidence of their visit

 

I bend to feed my dog

he's always happy when I awake

or, does he wake me

smart enough to deceive me

but, far too needy

for me to ever take offense

 

I can change a yellow day to crimson

I've taught my mind to taste all colors

when I bleed my river is a short one

I ride it to the sea right up the road

where death and life both survive

in the sweet harmony of crashing waves

 

She writes poems that tease my senses

she is there and then she's gone

I see her as I see the moon

always tempting, ever changing,

affecting tides of oceans

with her gravity of grace

that rocks my world

 

It is time now, time to wet my  skin

I love the rain, it ignites my  senses

just enough for me to crave

the sun again

 

ajs