...My Bed. Still Not Asleep. 6 A.M. NY, NY.

There are places we go in the rain. Places unsung by sunlight, unblemished by mother nature, places underneath it all.

In the rain, my mind is a collapsible jungle... springing to life, breathing in falling water. The drops leave footprints on my forehead when I walk, tracks on electronics as I steadily punch keys and twirl dials... water gets everywhere.

I forget who I am in the rain... that I am human, prone to illness, in this world-sized well I am a momentary immortal, salient and severe. I act as if, around me, there is an inch-thick force. I move with the steadiness of an eel through weeds or a knife through sand and though I am drenched by the steady downpour, I am as a water creature, sustained by its life force.

There are times when, stuck inside, I feel it in my heart somehow, the water pouring. I even look out the window, up towards the murky sky, and yet I don't see it coming down. Not one drop. I look out towards supposed nothingness and probe with acute faith... believing that there is rain, and, as if by shear force of will, my vision clears and each and every drop and speck is readily apparent.

In the rain, my mind is a rewound marathon. The systems trace back paths through dirt and sod, tracks that have long since been covered by time, written over like old tapes with new material... and yet the old places seem fresh in my mind when the rain comes. It washes away what I choose to know and brings a sheen to the real world below. And as I look, I am made crystal.

There are places I go, for the rain is my grand mapmaker, and I, its native son.

That's all for now.