NIGHT RAIN
What time of night is it?
I do not know
except I have not yet heard
any cock’s crow.
I have been drifting
between sleep and waking
but by the whistling wind
I know the rain is drumming.
Drumming so hard
I can see through the cracks
of my old windows
the trees dancing wild.
Like a drunkard, I rise, unsteady
moving my bags from danger.
My roof leaks
even in darkness, I know the spots.
I know them well
for I prepared before nightfall
placing bowls where water falls
waiting for the rain to remember us.
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