Poetry / Rain (9-12-2001)

Rain:

We need it to rain.

Not the flash and bellow of thunderstorms,
But just a drizzle,
A soft mist, for a day and a night
And a day.

A comforter
Of mottled gray-black clouds
To hide beneath.

Tiny silver droplets
To run in thin, gleaming sheets
And wash the dust from the faces
Of great, sad buildings,
Like a mother washes her child’s tear-stained face.

Rain,
To wet the grass,
And drip from the eaves of a million homes,
Murmuring gently in the gutters and downspouts,
Soothing us when we awaken in darkness,
Suddenly afraid in the long night.

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