Rain taps the window
while the dryer tumbles
clothing with a low softness
I hear water stream off the roof
into one of the many ephemeral puddles
cornering the house, but it’s that window
tap and tapping that comes
to the foreground of my imagination
Will it be sunny tomorrow
I think
but the thought falls away
to the moment with the even tap
against the window, as if
tapping me on the head
“Here! It’s right here,” it says.
And I close my eyes and
listen to the water’s timbre,
like the crackle of a fire
that pops coals to ash.
And I drift before I forget
it’s a cold note foretelling winter’s silence.
I am me 