This dawn the rain suddenly comes.
I had thrown my wishes up in the skies,
my memories too, where they’d come from.
and I’d forgotten all about the rains.
Now suddenly the drops of the rain
come a long way
and patter these pug-nosed ancients
against window panes,
on the dusty leaves in the garden
and the hard long-dry ground—
they must be kicking up the dust
the air smells of the long sigh
of the earth and the vegetation
at the first rain of the season
after they have held their breath for long.
Waking up the sleep,
rousing the deep sleep.