It is no small thing to have come here,
child that you are,
remembering what was lost,
searching the sky
for that which was wet and beautiful about this place.
The clouds, for instance,
half-stained in memory,
their place on the horizon slowly gathering attention.
Or the wind, perhaps,
threadlike and quiet,
finding its way here again,
back into this world,
no longer pressing to the earth.
Even now the clear green-gold of summer
is opening into autumn.
Even now the rain,
wanting to keep this sound alive,
is picking up where it left off.
Poem and image by Sarah Rehfeldt. Please do not copy without my permission.
Poem published in Homestead Review, no. 38 (Fall, 2017);
originally published in Numinous Magazine, issue 8 (October – December 2011).