The rain
before our very eyes
makes green this wooded space.
You put another log
upon the fire.
The rising
wind stirs up the
deepest water of this lake.
I put another log
upon the fire.
And all the things
I meant to think about
are washed away,
beneath the wavesounds
and beneath the endless,
falling rain,
beneath the endless
falling of
your hands.
-- Deb Cooper