Meditation on Rain

Alessandra Lynch

In a blue collusion of dusk

and rain, the sky’s darkly shaking

like horsetails flicking

off bloodflies. As you’d try

switching off half-truths that fed

on your skin, their little bites

distracting you

from harder pain.

Nothing a hoof could gallop from. Nothing to ride here

but air

coolly passing from stable to woods—

each leaf a perforated heart—

to the front porch of the blue house. As you ascend,

the steps darken behind you, night

has its own quiet stepping—it is not

an abyss, not amorphous

as once you felt—.

How wavery the rain at the threshhold—

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