The rain began precisely when
the weather app said it would.
First, the street was spattered, then
the drops crowded in like tourists.

I never believed I could lay claim to anybody,
to say, "You are mine," like they do in
all the songs we knew. This is serious,
what we call love. Maybe it is rare.

I don't want to overthink it; I do that
too much already. There was no one
to say, "Watch now, this is how you do it,
this is how you love without tethering someone."

So, I fail, fail gloriously. Fail at arm's length
and fail up close. The rain begins and begins,
and all the while the bodhisattvas among us
wait patiently. They will not enter Nirvana
until all have found their way.