Let the Rain Keep Falling
O birthplace rain I take what I can from
your mouth, delivering myself
from spring seeds,
wetting my tongue
with your resilience.
And you warm my skin in segments,
rinsing winter & sweat,
my unskinned self trapped in your hollowed
bone marrow. Lately,
I’ve been listening to the ways the trees sway,
silent behind glass, trembling in pockets
of air they cannot escape from.
& I have run twice from myself
& my future. & I have stared the sky down
& wished it to darken into a sign.
& I have asked myself what qadr means.
Tomorrow, I’ll run
unstop & swallow – let what
was scraped against my lips
fly outside, a bird from my throat,
a fixed-wing esophagus, a tree that emits
a steady hum. & I will miss standing
on the roof that sings to the city. & I will take my dates
sweeter than ever. & I will sing through the muscle of
my own throat
& I will glare at myself,
daring my body to step aside
& lose what it never had.