The Simulated Raining Season Begins
Light is losing, now.
Not that it’s a
competition, but
isn’t it? And mostly
seen through
fractal panes.
Crystalline zig-zag,
beaded sight.
A moonbeam splits
into legion, I
dry my eyes. Your
great whim exposed —
making something,
like it’s nothing.
Teaching foliage to sing.
These weather-wearing windows
keep my mind at ease —
I’m playing backseat driver,
you’re playing c’est la vie.
The title of this poem is taken from a line in Higgs Boson Blues by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.
The first line is in conversation with this poem from a few months ago.
We have some big windows that are, these days, often covered with running rain. I love the aesthetic, the way it plays with light and the way it changes the world outside. This is a poem of gratitude for that small delight — somewhere between teary-eyed and impressionism.