Waking to Rain
Sounds of wet run everywhere,
soak is crying out to seep
to fill drains, infuse the soil,
bond with droplets in the air,
flow together in a stream
that never stops. This the dream
we wake to share, all our sleep
was for this: to lie muddled, warm,
wishing to blend with what we hear
although we fear it may enfold
sounds that never found a form.
Moments of clarity are few
and brief, and always outside: through
miles of whispering, blurred rain,
individual birds
ping grace notes at intervals,
as if an orchestra withdrew
leaving behind the triangles
to offer meaning to the world.
Leon Trainor