It has rained all night. It always rains all night Here is a place where night means rain Where darkness is always accompanied By the clatter of raindrops and wondering When it will all wash away. It always rains at night, and I lie in bed and feel the ground shift the house lift the river form beneath me. The rain forms a river that rushes down the sidewalk and sweeps us through the trees and carries us to the sea. Every night I find myself in a new ocean. Every day, I awaken in a foreign land.
Carrie and I have been writing morning poems together some days lately. It’s nice. I forgot what it’s like to sit down with intention and write a poem.
I’ve been busy lately, but a good kind of busy. I don’t have very much time for being stressed out. I try to stay calm from one moment to the next and manage my life in some kind of reasonable way. Did I tell you I got to be part of an art show? Here are some pictures of my poems on display at an art thing:
Oh, and also, I turned 35. Then I got hit on by this guy who wanted to know how old I was, so I said 87. They never believe me.