on rain

the rain has broken.  the interrogation
was indeterminate, an unfixed
missile with split contrails
guided only by his shakedown of
the clouds. his intent was
to identify facsimiles and
starve out imposters
laying claim to melancholy. this
is the problem with rain: every
drop is intentional, invulnerable
to breath; it follows
hurricanes dancing in his heart,
striking at the vestigial tail
of certainty.