Untitled (Poem #3)

Rain, continuous, drawing planets
in globules on glass, we are in
Puerto Varas, city of roses,
settled originally by Germans in the 1800s.
What's to do except listen & listen:
Wood expanding with the water
makes a crick every few seconds.
That must be what age is like.
Tomorrow we head to Bariloche
for New Year's & chocolates.
I feel like a fish or desert lizard
here in this bed, just waiting
for something to happen,
ears expanding like wet wood.