The dog wanted in
the maples showed their silver bellies
and we knew a rainstorm was coming
The wind rose in the trees
walnuts banged off the logshed roof
I welcome storms now
We watched the rain come
a curtain hung from the back of a cloud
with the sun behind it
We heard it coming
a rush through the trees
moving up from the valley
a rush of time and memory
pattering across the stubbled field
to find me at last
Standing in a bronze rain
how it shined on your cheek
how it jeweled your eyelashes
how we always looked for refraction
light divided against itself
always opposite the sun
I welcome storms now
the rain on my body
mists filling the valley
mirages hung in the air
helping me to see what I saw
and how much I never saw at all.
— Title from a poem by Wallace Stevens
