The rain whispered to me all night,
speaking in the unspoken voice,
a story, begging me to write it down.
I grabbed my notebook and went
to translate from rain to English
but the language was choppy
and resonated dripping noises,
Plunk, plink, plunk,
too pure and simple to be poured
into words, the rain came faster, faster,
Stop! My hand a maddened whirl,
until it was full-on storm,
leaving only a drenched
corpse of a poem
on the paper.
I fear I have lost a work of brilliance,
and yes, indeed I have,
as I walk out this morning and
find it strewn in the grass,
morning dewdrops clinging to the blades,
puddles of words at my feet.