I testify there used to be a demigod of the rain
We used to fight
down in the warehouse district
for the adrenaline of fight or flight
or– how it was often to be misconstrict
I used to fight
to learn (again) how to stand up
to never hesitate but still keep my head on right
I trained to be the runner-up.
He used to dance
with patient soft steps to the patter of rain
to lull the trees into a peaceful trance;
He would shower us sprouts amid the unattainable.
He used to strike
With a dismissive flick
That certainly sought out a spike
But you couldn’t know it hit until the after-kick.
You used to sting
when the waves of his thunder hit your fingertips;
after lightning struck across the room, amid the rain’s singing,
you wondered what god was wrangled in his grip.
The gods were always fain
to favor those who never trained
but rather lived their art, bewitched:
drawn in by a will-o-wisp they couldn’t resist.
I was once an atheist,
but should you meet a genius,
I reckon you’d be fazed, at least
To say what made you speechless
