QOD: How is rain right?

Glance from a window,
Sigh,
Call to hand a portable roof.
Sky spits
Upon persuasive watertight,
Morse Coding destiny.

Weather girl’s
Breasts,
Twin suns (or are they moons?)
Rise from low cloth horizon.
Her voice smiles;
Did she speak?
Scudding spate
Assaults upraised news:
Futures in buckets.

Gutters mold
Stampeding filth,
Brown-nosing doomsayers,
Cassandras and Chicken Littles
Thunderclapping
Premonition.

Naifs,
Babes in woods,
Cancan and moonwalk,
Heedless,
Lifting limbs to
Sprinklings of fate,
Tintinnabulation for
Cotillion and jitterbug,
As they belly dance toward
Unknown.

Sleet’s
Anesthetizing squall
Hovers over
Profligate and parsimonious,
Free reigning tides
In thoughtless wax and wane,
As we do or do not
Yield rain its right of way.