THE RAIN

Now and again a fairy arrives
and hangs from my earlobe—
a bit like a horsefly but with a soft voice.
(What are you doing right now?)
I’m looking at the rainy street.
I deliberately
keep the TV on
and it keeps on televising
into emptiness.
I like that sort of thing.
(And what are you doing?)
I’m just watching the rain.
When you try making out
each single drop of rain,
you get exhausted.
A factory
beyond the rain . . .
and what’s that
beyond the jetty?
Driftwood? A man? I can’t tell.
It’s best to take in the whole sweep of the rain
while more or less looking at these individual objects.
That’s what it is—the rain.
(Sounds so difficult.)
Anything which is ‘casual’ is difficult,
though a horsefly may not understand that.
(I’m a fairy!
Though I’m worth
just a single drop of your rain.)

THE RAIN