Rain Comes as a Reckoning

The Rain Comes as a Reckoning

I have gone to the creek to think,

and the sky has followed me there.

It opens in sheets, willfully,

as though the heavens have grown weary

of holding so much inside themselves.

The rain does not care if I am wet.

It is ancient and indifferent, and I,

crouched beneath the hemlocks,

I am its student today.

How long have I believed in fair weather?

The earth cracks in the sunny months,

thirsting in silence no man considers.

Now the sky speaks in the only voice

that only the dirt can comprehend.

Let it come.

Let it pour upon the broad surface of the creek,

ten thousand small accords

between sky and flowing water,

each drop a brief lesson,

gone before it can be doubted.

I am soaked through and clarified.

The self I carried in from the road

has been carried off by the current.