Meditation on Rain

In a blue collusion of duskand rain, the sky's darkly shakinglike horsetails flicking

                        off bloodflies. As you'd tryswitching off half-truths that fedon your skin, their little bites                        distracting youfrom harder pain.

                        Nothing a hoof could gallop from. Nothing to ride herebut air                        coolly passing from stable to woods—each leaf a perforated heart—

to the front porch of the blue house. As you ascend,                        the steps darken behind you, nighthas its own quiet stepping—it is not                        an abyss, not amorphousas once you felt—.

How wavery the rain at the threshhold—