By | 1 July 1998

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

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

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

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

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