All night, the rain drowned out all sound
except for its own incessant

insufferable susurrus.
Sometimes, I heard an uncertain

drizzle trickling down the insides
of spouts the way a pianist

tickles the ivory ever so
lightly and so slowly without

benefit of words. Gone is the
moonglow, the sprinkle of star lights,

the silence of crickets made more
profoundly pronounced in all those

glistening street and porch lights. Snug
in bed, I lie quiet and dry

in this hollow shell I call home,
feeling so utterly alone.