more lickable than prophecy

The rain is pregnant with a shape
exactly like you, late to tell your lover
it’s over, who is late to tell you
he never loved you, also in the rain,
as wet as a goat in the rain or a statue
of rain in the rain, if there is one,
would have epaulets of rain in the rain
and be made of bronze or toffee, you are running
now in the rain, your version
of the human spirit, your very private instance
of converting sunlight when available
into vitamin D, for the energy
to believe we are more than energy, hoping
that you are wrong in the rain,
that it will never be over, as he
is hoping that he always loved you
in the rain, three blocks, two blocks, one block
to go and there his is, more lickable
than prophecy, like dew has taken human form
and put on a yellow shirt and shaved
in the rain, the rain so hard
you fuck in the rain and no one notices, the rain
fuck-shaped where you are fucking, an animal
with its mouth to your ear, and you
an animal with your mouth to its ear, everyone
on equal footing in the rain, the rain
speaking to your panting with its panting, the rain
washing away the rain

[Bob Hicok, 'Some Recent Weather', from Elegy Owed]