Rain Dog

He shook, a blur of golden rain,

right on my porch, after the storm.

And left his essence, sharp and plain,

a damp, deep smell, so raw and warm.

It hung there, thick, for quite a while,

that earthy musk, a wild perfume.

More than just water, in that style,

it filled the air, erased the gloom.

Of sterile quiet, clean and neat,

it spoke of fields, of mud and play.

A messy truth, a sweet defeat,

that wouldn't quite wash clean away.