Rain will hinder the armed manoeuvres of arctic packs: wolves and ice
postponing our slow militarisation of the Northern Crown.
The Gatwick Express will take an undersea detour.
Your conductor will not apologise for any delay this may cause to your journey
but why not use this opportunity to dream of manta rays?
Closer to home, an astronomer dying
under an overcast sky in Chineham will ask
where the penumbra of the penumbra ends.
After watching the downpour for five days and wondering where his wife is,
a GP will turn from window to wallpaper to trace
the contours of the afternoon among floral patterns with his eyes for 49 minutes.
New thoughts will navigate the rain, among them
that there must be an antechamber
sealed from the world by the meeting of stalactites and stalagmites
but for the thickness of a wrist where generations of ghosts have gone to rest
their partialness for decades at a time
before the gap closes entirely.
Numerical questions are to find no purchase on the tarmac,
subsiding into the water table to await reincarnation as two problems
that will eventually infuriate an artificial intelligence much greater than our own,
forcing it to abandon a proof of the rationality of existence:
Namely, how many frogs rained down
on Ishikawa Prefecture to land in streams, rivers and ponds,
their luckiness unaccounted for in the greater miracle?
And how many of the watches designed to withstand
water pressure up to 50m remain sadly untested
within that quarter depth of the epipelagic zone?
Finally, in Halesowen, the memory of a girl will turn to rain.
Her friends will ask what weight does knowing have?
There’s always more weather to come.
Weather was shortlisted for the 2012 Live Canon Poetry Competition.