by Sara Luisa Kirk

Rain I’m here for
fills a day as I have
never, not yet

But like drops growing
in enthusiastic frequency
I’m learning

To track the clouds
nearly toppled by
their speed, read
magnificence

To be a winged thing
in a storm
dart and veer and near
miss, I think they call it
exhilaration

Gutters gushing their
clomping horses down
into buckets
of bobbing leaves

The intensity relative
to the sound
just before or after
surge or lessening

Oh, to write
the downpour
to fill buckets
of my own

Never knew
I had one
never noticed
it was empty

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Sara Luisa Kirk is part poet, part early childhood educator, part budding musician. A graduate of the University of Denver and a Colorado native, she now lives and works in Chiang Mai, Thailand. When she isn’t writing in her garden, Sara co-curates Magic Theatre, a monthly poetry series.