Precipitation

PRECIPITATION / Glenn Mott The wide eyes of every drop have come here dreaming. Have sUpped down out of the -tearing sky and asked nothing— As far as the rain has eyes at aU. And its fingers— As far as it has fingers—drum inside the oak tree That has parted the sidewalk half an inch a decade For a century, as a finger swells on its bone. Sleep and fall against yourself in the alluvial Earth mold of the foundation, under the waUs and frame. Under your house are the footprints of those who buUt it, ShaUow as the voice the moon makes when it wants the tide. Some night this voice might come to you and you wiU inquire In the darkness, turn on the light and wake to yourself. Wish you were there. Wish you were there—had eyes like the rain. The Missouri Review · 155 ...