Rain from the west.
Hands of rain lifting from
a green breast of ocean
to lay down their silver burden
of angels on the heads of fir
trees and houses, on the quick
chests of rivers, and on your
teeming head, my friend.
Amid the rain are bridges.
Everywhere. More bridges than rivers,
more rivers than friends to tell
the exquisite riddle words bring
our flowering skulls.