Home > Making Sense > Night Rain

Night Rain

October 8, 2007

I sleep with the quarterlight
half open, tipped
like a questing lip
into the dark.

Night rain is falling
and the talk
is all of transformation:
black on black in threads

and swatches, gravity diamonds
heading south down window
panes; the air itself
partitioned into beads

and space. Fluctuation, shift —
this parcel of earth self-
ministers, self-heals. And I
bear witness whilst below

my body ticks backwards
like a novelty clock —
new times, new intervals,
deep secret bells and

slipping gears. Yes,
just outside, a skin
and filament away,
the heft of falling rain

in space, against
the leaves and on
the running earth
is like breathing.

by Dick Jones

add to del.icio.us :: Add to Blinkslist :: add to furl :: Digg it :: add to ma.gnolia :: Stumble It! :: add to simpy :: seed the vine :: :: :: TailRank

Categories: Making Sense Tags:
  1. October 11, 2007 at 7:32 am

    I can’t think of any adequate words to leave in appreciation for this poem so I’ll just leave an eloquent silence.

  2. November 5, 2007 at 9:22 am

    I loved the opening stanza with that window ‘tipped / like a questing lip’ – so subtly suggestive. The poem itself really conjures that time before we sleep when so much of the world is still awake, humming away to itself.

  1. No trackbacks yet.
Comments are closed.