Rain falls in the wee hours . . .
a drumming in the gutters,
a splattering on the ground,
a song on the shingles,
a hiss in the wake
of the few passing cars.
I've been at odds--
ears muffled, mind hid
within my faux refuge
of artificial noise.
Give sanctuary, Lord.
Release me to whisper-rhythms,
to long, slow soakings
of mercies renewed.
a drumming in the gutters,
a splattering on the ground,
a song on the shingles,
a hiss in the wake
of the few passing cars.
I've been at odds--
ears muffled, mind hid
within my faux refuge
of artificial noise.
Give sanctuary, Lord.
Release me to whisper-rhythms,
to long, slow soakings
of mercies renewed.
Awesome, as we who grew up in the eighties like to say! Beautifully articulated. A kind of vers-libre sonnet at 14 lines, no?
ReplyDeleteI especially prize the palpable "release" of those last three lines; the opening sestet, too, admirably precise and sonically alert. Brava!
Thank you! To be honest, I didn't realize it was 14 lines until you pointed that out--ha!
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