Rain At High Noon

When I’m done here, tell me how to unfold the rain.
It’s been raining the whole day, but the streets are dusty
And the sheets are almost dry.
No one knows how these mirrors ended up
On the pavement, or why Narcissus wept
When he bent down to look upon it.
No one knows why, when leaning in for a secret,
Clouds that hover over deadly mountains
Cast furtive looks upon the parched land
That remembers only echoes of raindrops
Falling everywhere or that sweet,
Sweet smell risen from the earth.
Thirst is plenty here, where the dust dies
And oases are a dream.
For in this hour of high noon, vengeful suns
Will be scorching every shadowed feet
Come to retreat in hiding.
But it’s been raining the whole day—
And this sad, biting cold is nothing new.
Do teach me how to unfold the rain.