pattering, then drumming
then pattering again,

the rain is in deep conversation with the house.

talks began late in the night
and have continued into the morning
an urgent murmuring, wanting
wanting what? from the house

nails?  boards?  maybe a window
or quite possibly a Queen Anne chair,
the one covered in brocade...
perhaps it wishes to fill a bowl,
a cup, a sink or a bathtub
perhaps its wish is for inclusion
in the boiling churning waters of the teapot
or in the millennial rumored pipings
said to be coursing through every wall

or maybe just to talk, like this, about rain?

pattering, then drumming,
then pattering again.