RAIN When the rain comes.       What could be a story by Somerset Maugham.       In Toronto it falls perpendicular             striking perfect circles in the rough walk             that disappear abstractly down gutters             & are taken by the sea. They run & hide their heads.       Or a painting by Escher.       In Vancouver it hangs in the air             bending light to its liquid way             that weds the rippled surface             & branches go crazy with the moon. Might as well be dead.       A photograph.       In any city haunted by the strain of this strange rain             walking upon unstill waters             that print a giant's steps             & twists a flooded wreck beyond proportion.