Scribblings – Let Rain Fall

From Bare Bones and Boundary Stones


Let it soak through my coat,

my clothes, my skin

to bones and out again.

Let me become a river

where a river never was,

feeling a way, as only water can,

carving a route through my garden

round toadflax, marigold, gaillardia,

out the gate, down steps,

soil heaving in my gut.

I’m a new tributary rushing

to meet other tributaries,

each one a neighbour soaked by rain

through coats, clothes, skin,

to bones and out again

through a sluice-gate into

a bubbling world of brown,

spume-white, blue.








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