The rain starts softly,
then suddenly is pebbling
down. I hear it hitting sill,
then with throatier sound
hitting ground. It came up
fast, untutored by the season,
overtaken by desire to enter
the world and make its mark.
Where did it come from and
to what end? Somewhere high
where the air is thin and moisture
condescends to lend itself
to the elemental plan, where
light is like a petal upon the
flower, the ornament of sturdier
matter, where wind rouses itself
from its divan and, lifting baton,
confuses passion with love and
rages across the earth. Then like
the great chaos that is all beginnings,
a force unknown moves its hand and
the next thing we know it is raining,
the sepulchral sound of feet pattering
upon stone and we see to what end
all has transpired: to bring sleep,
that luxury and balm of the mind.
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