Rain at Night
The city lies back in its winding-sheet
While little digits drum a steady beat
On roofs and terraces, and rolling rain
Crescendos in the hushed collective brain.
Pensioner, wage-enslaved, impoverished, posh,
The sleeping people feel it wash wash wash
In runnels, through dark tunnels under grids
And manholes, down detritus till it rids
The buildup. Hands like these may be minute,
But such masseuses' touches work the root,
As buried wishes loosen from debris
And multitudes of deltas meet the sea.
Copyright Credit: Andrew Frisardi, "Rain at Night" from The Harvest and the Lamp. Copyright © 2020 by Andrew Frisardi. Reprinted by permission of Franciscan University Press.
Source: The Harvest and the Lamp (Franciscan University Press, 2020)