When the Rain Ends | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine
It’s quiet when the rain ends,
she said, he said
I like it when it rains.

I saw a homeless man
with bottled spring water,
he said, she said
I saw him catching rain.

A lithograph’s a good impression
for greatness people can’t afford;
I knew a man who bought the real thing,
but then he sold when he grew bored.

The drops fall silent
on the avenue,
only so much is washed away.

The city’s inside
when it’s raining,
she said
I like it when it rains.

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