I look out the window
in search of falling rain.
If it ever comes again
I'd find it first
against the trees. And as I fix
my stare upon them,
in the school yard, across the street,
someone should remind me
to look away and listen,
as there is no saying that says
not to listen for the kettle
when it whistles or the burner
sizzling out, extinguished
by the water as it overflows
because I wasn't watching.
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