RAINSONG
What of this winter here?
The unhappy song of rain and
wind in the bay laurel,
rainwater in the fountain
a mixing of what is ours
and what is not.
I go to the meadow
when the storm has slowed
to see what has changed,
what unknowable thirst was quenched:
the howl and fury in the night
brought down the tall sequoia,
and with it one hundred years,
the osprey’s nest, my childhood.
c. B. L. Bruce
First published in the anthology THREE, and winner of the PushPen Press Pendant Prize for Poetry