Soaking It Up

In this rain 

she pours

a fevered ballet of fir 

tree and windstorm.

Her dancing lands

in an earthen jar 

of elemental blending.

I am soaked through my skin

laughing all the way 

beyond the banks of River 

meandering, separating

two states

in the Pacific Northwest.

At rickety pier's end

corkscrewing whirlpools

twist to transform the life

of a wet warrior boy;

he’s fending off stormy

advances. And the smell

of rain is a woman

entranced and entrancing.

And the joy 

of bounded blue lines 

on unfolded maps is a child

wandering to witness,

to discover and wonder,

to speak loudly with fervor

and frankness 

to the gods of adventure

and learning, 

these amphibious sirens 

of yearning

of drowning,

bounding  

rebounding..