Sudden Annealing on a Day of Dark Rain: A Poem

Sudden Annealing On A Day of Dark Rain


All day in search of a poem to allege the hoursLived or measured. With my back set against the wallOf rain and my mind divided: Inquisitor.  Interrogated. Nothing. Not even the thunderIs something.  Not even the buds of rain On the naked trees that might have been opals Are something until, from another room Behind my room, the song you’re playing, Some indication of guitar, an offhandKindness. Like yesterday when I recognized A tenderness in you accepting the small stuffed Bear a child offered for no one else’s sake.