Such Things Require Tenderness

Into the rain, I walk—

the rain falling like light

falls before a storm—

and I never look back.

About storms, truly, what did I know?

I knew beauty. The clouds gathering

gray as depression or the taste of it

in my mouth.

No, that’s not beauty.

Before the storm, a declaration of birds.

Before the birds, a discarded pill,

a black hat with a clipped rose.

I did what storms do: held

against the frail night, made longer

by my wails and crashes,

which, by now, as I dissolve into

the cadence of rain, is only memory.

When the declaration makes use of its boredom,

I’ll return to this place to walk again

and again into the rain knowing

I must tackle such turmoil

if, by the laws of nature,

I want to grow.

—The rain is clearing.

I hold out my hand.