PERCENTAGES

On days like these, light gray
promises hang on the horizon
along the Coast Range waiting

to be invited, shy rains late
and hesitant, empty-handed,
yet we race to get the delicate

inside and under roof, just
in case, glancing up at the sky.
We have forgotten how to dance

the dark storms in, to drum-up
rolling thunder to fill the creeks
with sheets of rain. We measure

normal with a straight edge instead—
level all the crags and peaks,
all the gaps and secret passes

to a flat and steady grade
to forecast our chances, to gauge
our bounties and disasters with

a number that always deviates
from the average for this moment—
the only science we understand.