The grass at the park is all lit up
I told you before that when it rains here, it’s not like normal wet
Our water sweats its way from the shoulders of trees
to the shoes of anybody on the sidewalk
All the leaves twinkle like foliage turned astronomical

Mud, etched with little sticks, is beaming
It reflects back at the sun like you wouldn’t believe
There’s a knife, I think, that butters our sky
Smears stars from one end to the other
Back on the ground, the cement goes from
plain, steel-grits gray to shiny, shiny black
Practically iridescent
You know that smell after it rains?
We can actually see it