when I feel I’m good for nothing,
I can always write a poem.
Some days the rain comes down
as if from a twirling sprinkler.
Some days all I have are rocks
from the Dix River 
and 6 liters of water
tinged with coconut.
Some days I have to change clothes a few times,
because I keep going out in the rain.
Some days I glimpse my neighbor, Travis
while I smoke on the upper landing.
He tells me about Minecraft
intersecting with his life
while standing in the rain
and even though I have been crying 
about how some things in the world
seem beyond my grasp,
I feel like I’ll be ok,
knowing he stood in the rain just to talk to me.
He seems so unaware of how his genuine kindness is shining. 
So I curl up cozy with the Kitten,
-she reminds me of a furry snail shell-
and I listen to the thunder
and the steady swish swish on the pavement below
bundled on top of the made bed with a yellow sweatshirt throw,
on a very cold, excessively dark and
rhythmically wet summer solstice.