Monday, September 2, 2013

Morning rain

There is nothing in my voice but noise
The patter of rain against the glass
Easing me into easy sleep
If not dreamless, then unconcerned
A life lived in simple declarative sentences
As to what to do next and after that
Each morning rising to rain a blessing
Unexpected and moody,
A gift from some spirit elsewhere
That knows me deeply enough
To know what I need most
And to spread it over me in moist dots
Sometimes, I sit in the car and refuse
To turn on the windshield wipers
So as to have this world smeared over me
Like a special skin, each drip filling me up
And making bringing me awe no dream can
The morning rain is always a special rain,
And when it comes it feels like prayer
Filling my voice with meaning I cannot
Do at all for myself,
As if I need to wait for these spirits
To fall down on me to complete me
to give me visions that I cannot otherwise see.

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