Rain dots the tee stretched atop
my ball of belly: tarp over your home,
wet weighting its pink weave.

My skin pinks, too, with the cloudburst’s cold.
Beside me, the dog shivers her hair to tufts,
is once more soaked.

I imagine you blood-hot, blood-fed,
hushed by my hurried steps.
Soon, you’ll know torrents,

drops whipped over the skin,
chills whistling through cotton on a straight wind.
You’ll know the heel-rub of sodden shoes,

the tweaks and short breath of motion,
all this strangeness—
                                but also a world greening
before the deluge has ceased, cream clouding

a cup of tea, dog pillowed on your feet—
the warmth of your father’s hand
brushing raindrops from your cheek.