by Christopher Raley
Last night memory called me awake.
3:30 am like broad daylight.
In the livingroom rain crackled
against the south facing window.
I watched it streaking globe-like kingdoms
of streetlight’s twin boundaries in air
and sidewalk. Identically
yellow and shining and empty.
I was born into a drought
and have never forgotten rain’s
first claim of wonder on my eyes.
Now I tell all things in two states:
one is dry, featureless, brown,
and the other chained yet wild,
fanciful and falling.