It always rains when I dream. Drops as big as saucers. Numbers innumerable. Beyond counting.  I see them all. Individual kisses of gold and rose. Falling. Around me. Slowly stretching back towards heaven as they touch the ground. Splashing. To my knees. Heavyweight. Undisputed and still raining champ.

In my dream world not in the real world. Distinction there. Though I am sure that this has occurred on more than one occasion. Raining in both simultaneously. Hard to say. A man of my means and disposition afforded the luxury of a deep and restful slumber is rarified. It does happen from time to time however. Difference. In the real world I do my dreaming with a gun.

I often wonder about this. Why there is never a crack in a cloud that a sliver of blue could peek through. Deep sky blue sky. A glimpse. A shine. A ghost of color.

Brother Brigham. The Man. American Moses. He shared his opinion with me. Said it was the tears of mothers falling down over all the sons and daughters I have killed. I smiled. He did not. I never killed anyone who didn't need killing. Told him as much. Seems to me it must be raining hard reality and justice if anything.

A low rumble. Sonorous. Orotund. The sound never changes. I breath petrichor.

I once took off walking for what seemed like hours. In ever widening circles. Clockwise. Witches walk widdershins. I never found a boundary. Felt no border. Miles and miles of rain. Golden. Rose. Color of a dream. I have. Not come to the end of.

I declared it Honorary Mother's Day. I sang sad sad songs as eulogies. Your sons. Your daughters. The rain paid me no nevermind. I sang sad sad songs on Honorary Mother's Day and watched it pour.

Just another dream. There was not a hint of sky blue sky. It never changes.