several kinds of downpour

the first kind is obvious. the rain comes
like spilled teeth. we go outside 
& soak ourselves until our water is blood
& blood is water. the next is less common
but has still followed me. the ceiling
like a mouth of moths. all the wings
beating against our faces. i am not someone
who can do anything halfway. it is always
a deluge. the flooding alleyway 
we swam through to be lovers again.
i call you & it is midnight. we are both
underwater. we are in the city again 
& no one else is alive. we walk the phantom streets.
sirens spill across the clouds, another form
of downpour. there are not enough 
wheels to carry the kind of grief 
of leaving too soon. i never reach precipices,
instead the downpour is the place where
the bodies can no longer carry all the peaches.
i learned everything i know from the first kind.
from clouds telling everyone, "soon"
& everyone rushing as if they might
outrun the arrival. i once walked around
with a shower cap on during the day.
i was preparing for the finger snow.
the great eyelashes of angels. you sometimes  
come to my backdoor & tap on the screen.
i do not want to turn you away
but i have a secret room full of buckets.
they fill with water & i empty them.
i am always just a breath away. i wonder 
what it is like to live as an easier person.
head filled with turtles instead of cicadas. 
i take my exoskeleton to the car wash.
put the quarters in the machine 
& watch it pour. when i see you next
should i pretend not to know you 
or should i tell everyone stories of what
we used to tell each other when the moon
was ready to gush? when the streets filled 
with ivory & birds?