‘Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain’

– GM Hopkins


1

You drive as the rain drives

now steady now squalling

a car full of storm and vespers
One voice in the mass

seeks you out and pierces

like those cruel frequencies

dogs keen at

unfelt by the rest of us
Another dimension, your pain,

the banks and brakes, the chervil

and the birds – the rain, even

invested and utterly private
Just for this moment I cross

into it, hurtling down

the relentless lane


2

To master hurt by sipping at it

to acquire the taste

or burn the lips senseless
Conversely to spit it out

like words a stroke wrote off

resurfacing


3

Stepping out

real rain can’t touch you
Drought of another order

I have been there forgotten

Tell me again
It’s a kind of home

you’re guiding us through

we may miss some allusions but

will stick with you