Heavy Summer Rain

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by Jane Kenyon

The grasses in the field have toppled,
and in places it seems that a large, now
absent, animal must have passed the night.
The hay will right itself if the day

turns dry. I miss you steadily, painfully.
None of your blustering entrances
or exits, doors swinging wildly
on their hinges, or your huge unconscious
sighs when you read something sad,
like Henry Adams's letters from Japan,
where he traveled after Clover died.

Everything blooming bows down in the rain:
white irises, red peonies; and the poppies
with their black and secret centers
lie shattered on the lawn. 
(Brutus, August 2001-July 2015)

Comments

  1. Wendy HarveyJuly 21, 2015 at 11:29 AM

    I'm glad you're back. I was hoping you weren't done posting poems. It seems like so few care about poetry. It's been awhile since I read through those on my blogroll. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  2. UnknownJuly 21, 2015 at 7:27 PM

    Thank you! Once I got out of the habit of posting it's been a challenge to get back into it. Thanks for reading and commenting.

    ReplyDelete
  3. The BugJuly 22, 2015 at 4:09 PM

    So sorry for your loss! Hopefully the hay will right itself again in time...

    ReplyDelete

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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)

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