The prospect of rain,
the sort of rain

which bounces rain on rain
across the pavement, rain-

soaked and glistening, made
me tremble with anticipation, made

perfect with an umbrella. Made
safe in its confines, made

me daddy's chicken. Arm-in-arm
we sang and marched, a swinging arm

the testament to our love. Arm
me once again with that aegis. No arm

can hold me now as he did.
No man can hope to do what he did

for me. Too late I understand the rain
which softly falls. We loved the rain.