The rain, like gospel acid,
dissolves and revives in equal measures.
Parts of girl and dog, melted,
weeping off the shallow cliff
of curbside. The girl’s features
have been washed away by the storm,
yet the embryonic portrait of her new face
already fated to emerge.
Her umbrella, a bulimic bruise
or snailshell dome, consorts with the rain,
scars and slashes of silver mucus
blown through Heaven’s sundered veil,
as God sneezes grief upon all the
brave raincoated girls and small brown dogs
of the world.
Notice the forget-me-not
leash between the girl’s hand
and dog’s neck, a gentle query
or supple bond.
Notice the silver lining.