The Rain We Have Hoped For

 

C H R I S T O P H E R     R A L E Y

 

 

The rain we have hoped for
falls in the first days of May

straight down to thirsty earth.
It wakes me at 2 am.

Through the open window,
I hear from another time

years behind this one
and miles away.

In the mountains rain fell
through forest top to its bed.

I rose from the covers
and pulled back the blinds.

The deck jumped in droplets
and shimmered in buzz of light,

pale but demanding
from the cabin’s roof peak.

At the edge of its circle
trunks of pines folded to roots

that thrust into red earth,
soil gripped by toes

from creatures high and dark.
We dream but never see them.

 

 

 

 


Photo Credit:  © C. Raley


 

 

 

 

 

 


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