14.xi.21
682
2.318
the rain requires its own poem
too patient for a tune
it tells a roof
it runs a garden path to
stream
gathers tank to tap
which brings us to the
drought before
unbreakable but never
sent
no accident, neither
intention
the rain falls for a fact
admit geography is luck
wind taller than trees,
than days
the thunder thrash and
dance
minute of hail, a
thrilling hour
frog sheltering therein
which is a waste of
petals, leaves
rain lays the page with
tide, forgets
itself – sodden page
stuck tome
the sun shone after
who’ll remember where it
fell?
an after-trickle in the
glisten green
come down in this last
shower
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