Circling the Rain

Copyright 1983 by Colin Glassey

Shimmer waves, the rain
Droplets sound like tiny chimes
As they are released in sequences
From the thin tin troughs
Collected from the wide rock studded roofs.

The slow chain strokes of the tether ball poles
Rings across the empty green sea
Of white diamonds and crosshatched metal stops.
Each pole sounds like an imitation
Of a clock, striking the hour's iron heart
Calling the children back.
Its time to play, they say,
Its time to play now that the rain has gone.

Circle back before the rain. Believe only
What the earth whispers when it describes
How the wind sang. How it mocked the dead
Voices of the animals buried underneath.

The sound of an open door
Pushed close, then out by stale air
The sound of nothing.
It denied the trees, giving them
Only the sight of clouds
Like china plates in the air, never falling.

The trees stand, so still, supplicant - arms outstretched
Like prophets who must, at any cost.
Believe. Holding true to the hope
Without, their souls a desert would be.

Then come forward, see the laughing wind die
A fitful breeze replaces, grayer, a close
Relation to shadow and ocean. It brings the rain
Like blessings. The trees stand redeemed
The dead are becoming the earth, a slow reconciliation.
Oh their dreams, so slow, so calm, never falling
Even the poles will be saved.
As the storm clouds tremble past,
As the sunlight brings forth the children.

In memory of a rainy day in Davis, 1983.

Next poem: Some Departures