Late Rain: Kirsten Jones Neff *

When the rain arrives in February,
it begins in the dark of morning.
We wake to move from our beds,

one by one, to stand at the window,
as if a stranger were approaching.
We stare over the field,

past the soft-footed sound, toward
a fine ivory thread of dawn along the ridge.
Wet filaments dive toward us,

piercing stitches through a swath of gray,
glinting in the children´s eyes.
I search the ridge for a source,

someone to thank, finally,
for this release, for this morning show
of silver light across the sky.

The Spoon River
Poetry Review, volume XXXV number 2.

Archivo del blog

Páginas vistas en total