This rain comes to the bog
on kitten paws
that pitter pat pitter pat
across the matted-down grasses
and mosses.
Little prickly claws that pierce
with thin slivers of shiver.
Suddenly, the bog’s sod
is sodden.
Rain’s excess twists, twirls,
swishes, curls around me.
Hasn’t it always been this way?
Incessant is the word
I’ve heard for this sensation.
Rain turning the day gray,
fading gloomily into on unending night
after another.
Years accumulate this way.
Rain plays with me like a mouse
caught in its kittenish jaws.
I’m still waiting for the bone-
breaking, spine-splitting, skull-
crushing bite.
