“In Bimini, on the old Spanish Main, a black girl once said to me, ‘Those as hunts treasure most go alone, at night, and when they find it they have to leave a little of their blood behind them.’ Lorne Eiseley from The Innocent Assasins, Charles Scribner’s & Sons, 1973 It is the rain that speaks last to the heart. Just as I came, at midnight, with rain falling. No sudden hush, no light toward morning ever Now bolts split, windcocks spin, skies open Rain is the world’s intent, it lashes every furrow,īeneath the sounds of eavespouts and of gutters. It does not drip most gently through spring leaves. Rain from the wars, rain from the past that kills you. Rain in the night, rain through the open window, rain in the eyes The girls all gone, the parking lot deserted, or, in the fields, Tells you the years are done, that there is nothing left but rain. Strange, strange, how in the end it is the rain that tells you, I will be at my abecedarian best and go through the alphabet from a to z, with a few letters getting more than one post! To celebrate National Poetry Month I am featuring a new poet for each day of April.
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