No moon, no stars,
she sneaks up canyon
in the dark an hour late
gently whispering
from the black
as if she never left.
A sprinkle kisses the roof
I cannot see, but hear
find its way to earth.
After midnight, my mother
would turn the porch light off,
so no one knew I wasn’t home
when we had neighbors, trails
between cabins in the mountains
I knew by braille
and by the sound
of my young feet, light
upon the night trails.
In the end, no one cares
exactly when it rained—
only that it came.
drycrikjournal 