It's looked as if it were about to rain
for six days now, maybe,
but it has not.
The clouds come,
giving good, grey shade,
and then abandon me
and my garden.
Announced each time
with powerful petrichor,
playing off the hot April concrete,
of the almost-May days.
Something California does not have,
along with orange placemats,
to leave out to get wet.
Along with the dishwashing gloves
from my last relationship,
each day, looking forward to
the cadence of rain.