The rain

The rain rains
between sky and ground,
earth submerged
under puddles,
asphalt a slick swish.

The rain rumbles
all hours — all day
and at night
wetter — colder.

Under my umbrella
my belly is cold,
no thermals between
me and the sleet
sheeting down.
I hurry shivering.

The rain rains
from sky to ground
brown pools
cover the pavement.

In them I see
the inexhaustible
brilliance of cloud.

Daisies

in Spring, the daisy tree

is a blossom bomb

exploding pink,

honey-scented wheels.

Someone has lopped off

branches full of blooms

and tossed them on 

the compost heap.

I carry armfuls, four vases full, 

indoors. Pink petals revive

and white buds open 

in vase water.

The scent of nectar

permeates my rooms —

daisy honey housed

in hidden hives.