Downpour

Outside the storm
hisses at my concrete and sifts
the grass-water from the gutter
juice, the night closes its eyes
and feels each drop slide down.
The storm has come for me,
the butter fingered branches
drop every cup.
The slush is foaming at the bank.
I lick caught air and turn
to you ready to sling shot
off this grey stone, through sky,
to blue, and the green lip
of your vast continent.