Rain
(9/12/01, Chicago, Illinois)
We need it to rain.
Not the flash and bellow of thunderstorms,
But just a drizzle,
A soft mist, for a day and a night
And a day.
A comforter
Of mottled gray-black clouds
To hide beneath.
Tiny silver droplets
To run in thin, gleaming sheets
And wash the dust from the faces
Of great, sad buildings,
Like a mother washes her child’s tear-stained face.
Rain,
To wet the grass,
And drip from the eaves of a million homes,
Murmuring gently in the gutters and downspouts,
Soothing us when we awaken in darkness,
Suddenly afraid in the long night.