Standing near my door,
watching the rain as it falls
into my teacup,
counting the tiny splashes
waiting shamelessly for mail.
—Michael Boiano
Sit and be still
until in the time
of no rain you hear
beneath the dry wind’s
commotion in the trees
the sound of flowing
water among the rocks,
a stream unheard before,
and you are where
breathing is prayer.
Standing near my door,
watching the rain as it falls
into my teacup,
counting the tiny splashes
waiting shamelessly for mail.
—Michael Boiano
august rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. the odd uneven time.