After ‘Rivers and Tides’

Is there thunder where you live?

I'm being put to bed by it.

Do you hear violent drops on your ceiling?

First a thud, then gentle disintegration

sliding down the glass,

and the gasp of the grass as its opening wide

the mouth, waiting patiently for this moment,

cumbersome to walkers,

a lullaby to me,

life to it,

springing.

In your apartment,

silence is enjoying an unwelcome stay,

is this April shower finally making it vanish?

could it fall hard on you,

cracking open all your wounds

and ravaging them deeply,

until there is nothing left?