CALL ME BELOVED

the air grows thick and warm rolling past noon – and
I feel something ethereal inside me reach past the rooftops,
my aspirations and belief evaporating from my pores
to condense, I hope, into something that can rain down over us.
I want to stand on this same sidewalk, lost in a crowd,
in a torrential downpour, an ablutionary rite that will wash
everything down past the gutter – I will step inside the foyer
with my clothes heavy and forming pools on the tiles
and feel much better about the world, for a change.