Waking to Rain
Daylight is here, striking the turned cheek of darkness.
The white flowers flare like drugged pupils.
The landscape assembles itself as a vision,
a wash of gold in the mind. Nerves start-up
and the dream grows vague. Names and tasks
cascade out of nowhere. The self is born again
from the waters of sleep. Heartache, quiet and gemlike,
returns with its beautiful troubles.
The rain drips from the trees, delicately,
as if uncertain of the earth.