Whenever the Rain Comes Down 

it holds our world behind its deliberate wall.

We search for familiar forms-
the path’s retreat into the woods,
a stand of tansy and yarrow,
the sweep of queen’s lace.

The rain scumbles wands of forsythia,
blowsy bee balm and wild raspberries.
Beyond where all things bend to the sound of rain,
a tangle of grapevine shrouds mossy stumps and stones,
solemn trees prop up the darkness;
we find nothing to fix our gaze on.

Drowsy with the rain,
we sit in this room that grows octaves grayer,
replete with the din of falling water.
In the gathering darkness,
we look to each other
and find a matrix of light
no ruinous rain can erase.



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