Naturally it’s raining
soaking the overturned lyre with its
one string left. I am going my way
which makes a strange soughing.
This way dust that way duff.
I consider both paths
but keep right on humming
remembering those leaves fixed in judgment
and then us trembling toward winter, falling.
I remember the rain with its bundle of nerves,
water taking sides, driving down
going nowhere, everywhere.
Dumb as I am, wise as I am
I forget sunrise, a blind girl tapping.
I forget love glinting off windows
cats’ eyes spying on us behind curtains
us kissing along the cobbled path
winding through smoke trees.
I forget to speak
to your one smile
to your mouth open then shut.
This must be what I wanted to be doing—
strumming alone between two deserts
Image: Livermore Hills in Drought, 2015