Blackbird Archive← v19n1, Spring 2020Poetry · Volume 19, Number 1
After a Long Drought
The summer is gray this unusual evening.
Rain slips down from the sky
and lands quietly
as if it meant to overpower someone sleeping.
Water rings swarm across the surface of the bay
and it’s the only surface there is—
the other is height and depth,
to rise and to fall.
The trunks of two pines
shoot up and extend into long hollow signal drums.
Gone are the cities and the sun.
There’s lightning in the tall grass.
It’s possible to call the mirage island.
It’s possible to hear the gray voice.
Iron ore is honey for the lightning.
It’s possible to live by your code.
