Forty nights
and forty one days to study the sound of rain.
It is an ocean and a whisper
and an army on the march.
It is deep as solitude and crowded.
It is every second made solid and falling
filling up the hours till they flow over
and run the days through gutters till they drop
into the busy black and jostled night.
Birds twang against the thumping heart of rain.
It sighs all sorrows, exhales all hopes,
strums a billion impatient finger tips on table tops,
pounds drums to dance the leaves
until they hang in exhaustion.
It is a rushing train that never arrives or departs
but passes beneath planes that roar
and never land.
It is the busiest highway of speeding cars
that drive all night.
It is as small as a silver bracelet,
the ruffling pages of a book,
the dumping of a box of black and white photos on a bed.
It is all the thoughts you've ever had.
It is racing through the clouds
to its real home, but stopping here
to try on new arms and legs.
Not all the sorry souls in hell
could cry so many tears
and only the infinite thirst of life
could fill the halls with such applause.
Links
The Museum of the Ordinary Woman
Rain
Karl At White Columns 1983
A Personal Style
Time
Passing Over
God and the Brain
HOME
Love Blog ~ New as of April 2004
All poetry and photographs are the original creations of Jo Ann Wright, writer, artist, art teacher, and are copyright protected.
