In Galway
(First Published in AIDS West Journal and included in the collection, Necessary Silence)
I have watched rain write
its name on dark streets
and stone walls as if
to plant something
soundlessly in the crevices
with an outpouring
that might warn or heal.
Rain is a haze and patter
stippling sidewalks,
crowds shrouded under umbrellas.
I am not afraid
to be drenched
or to wail like wind.
It’s the discarded nuance
of gray I’m after, and the Corrib
haunting flinty streets until traffic slows,
day curves into night
and rain tells a story
of death and seeds,
how everything
must change
to come into
its gleaming.
