Is it all a loss, or can we
Make beauty from the chaos?
Take shards and snarling
Breaks and aching
And make them our own ground?
Can we beat the trouble into solidity
Build our homes upon the rock
Never have to shake when storms are here and
We cannot breathe or blossom?
What is it to
Dissuade the dark?
To slip the snapping teeth their mark
And feast on collarbones, the while
The pouring storming-men go wild.
I have not had to beware looking up at the sky
For quite some time
For fear of raindrops stinging my eye;
“Welcome back, old friend.” I say to the rain,
“It’s good to see you again.”
When you feel so alone
That even sorrow walks away
And you’re left to ache in hollow bone
Soul heavier than clay
Turn your face toward the rain
See each drop that falls
Insistent on its arcing path
In Silence through it all
The Loudness comes when raindrops die
Fall, a final splatter, cry
The Loudness crawls into your flesh
A barrage as loud as inner death
The demons march as heavily
On iron roofs as on your feet
Their silver tongues lash every light
And make the day-sky dreary night.
Wait beyond the first descent
The liquid screams as grasses dent.
Pay first — your attentions to the clouds —
Before the inner roaring debt.
To fall asleep with thoughts of you
While rain paints endless winding tunes
On all my windowsills
Is surely more than I deserve.
To wonder if your heartbeat sleeps
As soundly in your arms as I
Is a question for another life.
More happy, healthy
Because the words don’t flow?
I did not intend
To mend distress
Where rhymes cannot reap or sow —
Yet words have not come to me
As softly, as necessary as breath
Since days before the breaking-storm
That scissored my aching chest.
The storms are more frequent now.
They come with knives in their teeth
lashing the ground with prophecy;
Thunder plays out like the men and their dead diplomacy
shouting, screaming in foreign voices
of blue, white, red blood.
The rain bites the ground and grows in hunger
gnawing at the sun, it comes.
The eagles do not fly here any longer.
The whisper grows as the clouds approach
a shadowy storm is brewing.
We burn the maps, we ignore the past
Surely the winds mean nothing.
They’ve lost their heads, children are dead
Is this man we chose apathetic?
Sibilance is stirring in the water
they are coming to make us bleed.
“Infidels, all infidels!
We will march them into the sea.”