A Glimpse of the Mystery
If poetry were rain, would it only fall in the shadows?
Published in
2 min readMar 11, 2021
It has to do with forward motion.
It has to do with sitting still.
It has to do with embracing.
It has to do with letting go.
Modern lives come in one long act,
each breath its own scene.
Sometimes the themes are big:
the homecoming of forgotten clouds
now thought of as what passes for drought,
now thought of as anticipation of drizzle,
now thought of as water
in wading pools for children.
On the news this morning, I heard talk
of a total lunar eclipse fully visible
from California, and at a convenient hour
if only the clouds prophesied by the weatherman
kindly agree to hesitate before reassembling
for the storm we’ve all been told is coming.
We need rain, but we don’t need it just yet.
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