The silver needles stitch the graying sky,
As thunder hums a low and restless lullaby.
The dust of summer washes from the leaves,
While the weary spirit finally finds reprieve.
The rhythm on the rooftop starts to beat,
A cooling mercy for the burning street.
Each drop a memory, a story left untold,
A liquid velvet, shimmering and cold.
The window blurs the world into a dream,
Where nothing is as solid as it once would seem.
The scent of earth, that deep and ancient musk,
Invades the shadows of the falling dusk.
It hides the tears that no one else should see,
A private curtain between the world and me.
The rivers swell with secrets from the hill,
While all the rushing city finally stands still.
So let it pour and drown the silent ache,
Until the thirsty heart has all that it can take.
For in the rain, the soul begins to glow,
Finding the peace that only storm-clouds know.