In the quiet applause
of falling rain
I wake too slow
to hurry the houseplants out
to rinse the leaves clean.

Indoors and dull with dust
but wet earth
enlivens the green pulse
that pulls us
out the door, barefoot
beneath dripping trees.

Oceans of traffic sounds
lap at this stucco house.
Behind the backyard
another backyard,
another pale house
on its thru-boulevard.

Dreams full of cars
on the second floor.
In this second floor air
we are open more
sigh windows in summer
in touch with each other
on currents that close the doors.