Waxing rain

Note: I've updated this.
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I walked home and the rain thickened;
I removed my glasses
to see the world as I should:
blurred with blackness,
people dipping into puddles,
wading waist-deep past the cars and the limbs.

Rushing over concrete--
displaced by the roots of unbridled pine--
and flowing like silt in a flooded river,
we gather in pools and eddies,
apartment buildings, parking lots:

mouths that open into the ocean
and spread us far and between,
away from our cars and our foundations.
So we run,
to flee the smiling fury of the skies.

Except,

as it soaks into my brittle, dried skin,
it warms my aching flesh,
hushes my decaying soul

and I am scaling that mountain again,
sojourning with the rain,
coursing upstream
up its knobbed hillsides;

but this time
I
am the victor;
I
am the conqueror.