All We Can Talk Of

Eileen Sheehan

the sucking ground under our feet
is fallen rain

the torpid clouds we look up at
are rain about to fall

that smear on your cheek
is rain in the act of falling

slugs proliferate, their tensile forms
the product of rain

say nothing else
but stand with me under the weeping skies

our bodies merging
clear and cold

rain our conduit
into this or any life