Rainfall

With acknowledgments to “Rain” by Cynthia Barnett

Whether the rain on Mars was delicate or brutal

             whether it was blue or gray

whether it fell on bare rocks
             that remained bare
                          or on fertile ground
             that raised large forests of leafing trees

it could not last.

                          Mars froze eventually
in the same duration
                          that Venus by contrast
                                        bowed her burning head
             in noxious vapors and gas clouds.

 


On planet Earth meanwhile

                          after half a billion years
                                        of continuous volcano-havoc
                          meteor storms
             earthquakes               and lightning strikes

vapor stored in the atmosphere
                          eventually began falling.

                                        It soothed the fires.

When the fires died
             it fell silently on the first outcrops of moss.

                          On the tender grass with a sizzle.

             With more strenuous drumming
                          on the resilient fronds of ferns.

It became an orchestra of millions
             across the luxurious expanse of the tree canopy.

 


Then the sun wiped its forehead
                                       with long filmy fingers
and beamed afresh.

It worked through to creatures
                          flourishing beneath the canopy
             and persuaded them to
                                       interrupt their work
of scouring on all fours
             for delectable roots and berries.

In the clarified light
                          they stared at their hands.

They saw the wrinkled fingertips
             that gave them a firm grip
                          on slippery branches and vines
gradually smooth      and soften.

They rose in amazement
                          onto their hind legs
and crept from shelter
                          across the dazzling savannah.

 


After a summer of twelve thousand years

after the interruptions of ice

after one particular inundation
             and the shadow of an ark
                          darkening fish-shoals
as they scooted over hills and valleys

after the blaze of one civilization
                          then another

after the destruction of several experiments
                          with law and order

after the extinction
                          of many beautiful languages

rain by and large
             found its place in the scheme of things.

It began to defeat its purpose
             on the private sky of umbrellas.

It babbled through long green fields
                          and melted into the seams of poetry.

It larked in the puddle of its many names.

Cobblers and chair legs and pipe stems.

             Frogs and jugs and beards.

                          Cats and dogs.

Men.

 


Although they are shaped like a parachute
                          thanks to the air pressure beneath them
raindrops                     explode on landing.

Then the sun bears down again
             fitting his monocle into his eye.

             The glass flashes and burns.

                          The rain sweats
and evaporates into the ocean of its air.

             The ocean continues on its way
                          continually overflowing here and there
in quick little splashes
             or reckless floods and drenching.

It is delicate or brutal.

It is blue sometimes              and sometimes gray.

Sometimes it falls on bare rocks
             at others                     it raises
                          large forests of leafing trees.