Rain Man

Rain Man

Rain falls in quiet panes of glass,
Murmuring the old London canals,
Its droplets like whispered thoughts of
Two brothers left in the same storm.

In the gutter of an endless highway,
A man with spectacles restored,
Said he might reach into memory's seams,
Fingers digging the forgotten brick.

The brother drove over fields of night,
Past sleepy villages where cats crept silently,
The lighter's bright heat of London being,
and the shadow of a friend's voice tugging at the wind.

East entities, Windham‑Hill's line,
Fueling the story with its curious glitter—
A patience to breathe: an ocean's stir—
The quiet niche of a life's rhythm.

Speakers turned up and thought of stars,
In the rain one might find a strength especially with the pavement blur—
The radio played a track that hit, beyond the screens of Chicago, the truth far off.

Vivid lines marked boxes; he could —
Hearing his brother fall into silence in a sad way.

Who can say the outcome of this life?
Yet, keeps one believing when the rain falls.

The poem encapsulates the contrast between the relentless drizzle, the emotional journey of the thunderstorm within and outside themselves.