poems as hand- and foot-holds on a glass mountain

A Dawn Rain

   

A patch loosely sown between night and day

covering their imaginary edges

misses nothing in the dark or in the light

finds all the dry places hard cracked

pulling away from their neighbors

into solitary emptiness

 

The rain misses nothing, brings them all along

with its welcoming second face of emptiness

out of the firsts we make on our own

so long as we think we do anything on our own

 

We are this facing, welcoming what comes to us

without which it cannot know what it is

nor could we know what we are

 

We are the dawn rain finding shapes and edges

small fingers sliding over and falling off

saying; come on down with us, as us

out-pouring, down-pouring 

out of your solitary cell self, out of captivity

into the wide open where all belong

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