Poem – puddles in between

He was always sure about walking in the rain,
but not about which puddle to step in.
So, he stood with patience, peculiarly
picking and choosing where to place his feet.
His mind always ahead, his body somewhere behind,
always adoring these walks in the rain.

-M. Taggart

 

Rain

I don’t write about flowers
or love, or the embrace of a lover
because so many
do this so wonderfully
that I would rather read
their version of beauty
than replay mine
Instead I write about
how rain watches me
Eyes dangling, while falling
but cannot speak what is seen
-Who was I to ever think
rain could not see
And yet I step in puddles-
When I finally look down
I see myself in wavering form
for each puddle proves how
wrong I had been

-M. Taggart