
dripping in the night
after bedtime
water drips from the
cedar onto the roof
rolls into the gutter,
the plunks a consolation
to my desiccated heart.
blessed rain!
thirty-three years lived
off and on in California—
now, in one June downfall,
almost an inch?
I long to stay awake
soak in the rare and
fleeting melody, a denser
song on the shingles
hollow in the pipes
the rainfall, the cedar,
the shingled roof—
my very own self and
the friend in another guise
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.