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House of Rain As if the wind ascends stirred by leaves and not the other way around the house you can hear from your comforter first leaf another leaf after leaf every leafticking down branch by branch what it must be liketo be a living tree the house has no memory of a hollow log has its own songsin the canopies its own snows winters dusting down surfaces spring free and when rain comes now it’s only rainhere and nowhere else for no one else knows weather anywhere but here thereis rain or no rain only maybe paths taken by the soaked leaves fallingto the rain layers you and you weight drop upon drop plaiting into deltas small mapsof years accumulating on glass ballast the house floats tiny acorns on the skylightsrain slipping into what buckets can’t hold buckling and disheveling till there is nothingto be done nothing not undone but the wind wanting nothing but to come inwarm to meet your skin halfway open windows in love with air flow drunkon rain the selvedges pine sills rise from year to year life to lifeechoes timbers’ seasons of slumber and sun lift apart planed rings like threadstime unwinds you at last drink to you in the storm through every room drinking what you cancarry rain in your hands’ imperfect cups  Alice B. Fogel Read Bio Author Discusses Poems |
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