I Eat the Rain

I hear the steady drizzle

of rain on my roof

and cannot sleep.

Thinking I will

walk around

and maybe peek out to see

the wondrous flood,

I get up and go

to the window.

The pane is cold against my nose.

Watching, I can almost

feel the cool rain running down

my face.

Suddenly,

imagining is not enough.

I throw open the door,

run out into the wet,

squish the mud between

my toes,

drink in the fresh-washed air,

tip my face up

to the clouds.

And now,

I eat the rain.