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.