A Letter after the Rain
I have tried many times
To tell you some things
and have failed: how life
can be like a child-simple
and uncomplicated. How
with its wounds, it
scales mountain after mountain
on slick ice;
how the warm evening, gray
like a breeze, has persuaded
our old tired bodies
to protect each other. How
when we try to believe everything
the believing muscles
of our minds soon tire,
and make us weak and we
don’t believe the simplest
true things then. Simplicity
is our survival.
I made coffee this morning,
and it rained last night. Today
along the palm-lined street
a southwest roadrunner-
wet-feathered
but intent on its prey
zooms along the asphalt
like a frantic tourist
afraid, so afraid
without a roadmap.
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