a dog really does nip me on the leg! i really do flood and walk while waiting to dry!

this is a town of rain, 
not infrequent. i want 
to make mention of being 
vague, not in intention but
in construct. i am unfit
for this desire, so instead
oval back to hoods. 
as this is, a town of rain. 
a hood turned up to keep 
rain from tenderness, 
that is my body. this is a town, 
infrequent and of rain. 

with a hood up to keep 
panic from staining me, i walk
to a post office. perhaps 
i have something to send, or 
maybe it is that i am hopeful
to receive. a man 
passes me; we are both
on foot, feet even, both 
wearing the blurred cloak of beard. 

his leashed dog strains,
my starched face hides. muttering 
commotion of rain. 

man and myself, both
strange, nod a faded greeting 
as we pass. strained 
dog nips at me, my shuddering
thigh. to be bitten is a shame 
that i cannot bear. 

this town is one of rain
and rain is a form 
of allowance; put up
your hood, friend, try 
to shield that of yours which is 
tender. 

after the nip i feel 
a flood; rage. this
can perhaps be better 
expressed as such: i sit
in meditation, sometimes 
attempting to empty, other 
times trying to quiet. still 
other attempts are a focus 
on loving kindness. 
though of course all of this is 
a ripening of blood, 
an aggressive blooming 
of violence. you see? 

or to say it another way, “should i live 
in reality, or live in the television?” 
some of us, perhaps, are meant to 
ring with grief. 
some of us, maybe, are meant
to drop, rain. a hood
pulled up and rage floods
in and silently seeps away. 

on the walked return 
from post office, 
i pass large garbage cans 
out front of apartment buildings. 
they are coated in ravens.
over a few streets and down 
a hill towards the water,
i see the tops of buildings. eagles
sit up there, drying themselves 
in the rain.