Climb and Cloudburst
The rain held off until
the cabin came in sight,
capping the ragged hill,
at home upon its height.
Just then, the grumbling dyke
above it sharply cracked
and the object of our hike
was cloaked in cataract.
Quickstep and steepening trail
soon led us to the door
and water by the pail
rolled off us on the floor.
You scouted round for kindling.
Through a split pane of glass
I saw the downpour dwindling,
allowing sun to pass
amid the prisming threads
that graced a row of trees,
affording credulous heads
a glimpse of light and ease;
not a mere dark and damp
disorder out of doors
against which men encamp,
toting unsettled scores.
A pattern: I could trace
the drift of each thin drop
to its appointed place. . . .
When it all ticked to a stop,
it crossed my mind that we'd
be better for this rinsing,
but not my lips-you'd need
some serious convincing.
What an unholy botch
this is! So you might feel.
I turned around to watch
the papery shavings peel
beneath your practiced knife
for us to put a light to,
and felt better about my life
than I had any right to.
Structure
40 lines · 10 stanzas