In Western Washington rain falls
like grass grows;
inevitably and often.
On the south rim of Grand Canyon
it rained so hard the road was a river
and a thousand waterfalls tumbled over the rim.
In the Mogollon range
a single storm snuffed
a thousand acre fire.
At three this morning the storm arrived
now rain beats a tattoo on a new roof,
a gift from last year’s hail storm.
The back yard is under water
lettuces and garlic submerged in their beds
river rock returned to its native state.
Our street has become a river
storm drains turned into waterfalls
just like that day at Grand Canyon.
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