by Dan Raphael

the opposite of rain
i stride up the hill
between the trees
thinking i might be wind
except how i smell
among the lens leafs, the transpirational chatter
pulling the sky closer with each breath

if i held still long enough id be washed and a couple inches shorter,
given new perspective by the soils constant appetite
unable to translate worm or the elemental phonemes:
to merge for one song or break out a new instrument
as everyones costume & body slightly morph

if the clouds were twice as high
what could protect us in a downpour
the mountains inner engineers would re-orchestrate the wind
as a flagpole doesn’t care which anthem is playing
as flakes of my skin evanesce
knowing they may never stop moving
but now have multiple voices

sometimes the second eye wraps around the head
seeing memory live and transposed
a suit that never fit me before
like ive been a doug fir all this time
waiting for the river to inundate me