by a young southern Oregon expatriate

last night's downpour did something
to dispel the grime off the weathered concrete
of this small city in central Thailand;

there is a breath of new life
in the fifty-foot palm over my backyard
even a sense of pleasure in the wet fronds
as the round, green fetuses march toward a likelier victory;

the smallish geckos that people
every exposed wall and ceiling
have taken refuge Buddha knows where
but tommorow they'll eat fatly;

also the butterflies will be out
in a force of glowing colors
that have grown usual even to these eyes
accustomed to desolate yellow hills
the occasional jack rabbit
resting in the shaded dead needles
under the tough, scattered pines;

Yes, the plentiful rain is welcome to
the long, grey fish with fire eyes
who exist in the murky university ponds;
They were worried in their primal way.

After all, it's been hot,
even creepingly arid
for over a month now;
the wind was starting to whisper "unnatural"
to the ancient, leathery ones,
whose filmed, fading eyes
have seen many a struggle of jungle, sky and farm.

nevertheless, the late morning drizzle
has dampened the flow through the tawdry mini-markets
bamboo cantinas, and noisy play-station arcades;
the hollow human energy is briefly stalled;

and I alone am up-beat
in my sub-existent kind of way
watching cool a bowl of greens, noodles and tiny squid,
a walking, breathing, typing refuge
for a menagerie of bizzare memories
idle years of prodigal study
and a life force scarred but re-vitalized
by a string of Siamese misadventures.