Raindrops

by Judith Skillman

 

Singletons foolhardy enough to come in two,
in sets, ghosts notes foolhardy as to be seen—
long stripes the rainbow left when it disappeared.
Nation of water and excess, each little drill another source
of loss and discontent. Or else what music calls
to the earth from its dislocated sky, low-hanging, pregnant
with Noah’s flood. Again inundated, as in dream.
A slow truth brings the body back—it is the other
who lies between two worlds. It is the uncle shrunken to half
his size, that one who succored me with smoke rings
from his ear. Child, the birdbath fills, come let us drink.