Legend of the Rain

 

 

Upon the earth, the lizard’s metaphysical kiss; then

The frogs’ trumpets:

The spider ceases its survey of silk,

Crawls into its ancient chink, snuggles under its sheets;

 

On the floor the cold’s first messages creep,

The crickets quicken their telegraph of cricks;

The electric wires and poles stand on end,

Tree limbs and the haughty bamboo sway restless;

 

And the rain marches in with its crystal banners,

Raiding the murky dungeons of the canals,

Its thousand boots trampling the metal roofs and streets,

Soaking and routing the troops of darkness.

 

Now it is tending the wounds of the paddies,

Bathing soiled branch and thatch. Expect tomorrow

On the rice fields: an Eden of newly washed silver,

The vegetables fresh and full of laughter. 

​

​

​