the rains touch the earth
DUANE LOCKE
The rains touch the earth,
looking for hard, low places
where can be left a puddle
and a dark circle.
I step out to know
the rainšs girl-fingers defying
separation by going
through my clothes
to leave their fingertips
on my skin.
The scrape of wetness
uncovers the source
that started the word
that was spoken away.
I, in my fenced-in urban backyard,
feel the infinity of a swamp,
and recall the once-known fecundity
of a once-known earth.
