A heavy rain slaps relentlessly
against the shutter’s slats
anchored down tight
against a summer storm.
Sweaty and spent, she gets up
from the bed and peeks outside,
then lights up a smoke.
In the twilight I can barely
make out her silhouette.
Turning from the view, she sighs
and flicks on the radio.
The haunting notes of a cello
playing an unknown
piece of music
bowed into existence
from some faraway place
fills the empty space between us.
Bored, I question the source
of this eternal longing
and recall a not-so-long line
of lovers stretching back
from now until then,
and wonder how
we happened to find
each other each time
through the pouring rain.
