There is that sense of loss
in the rain, the knowledge
that nature likes to hide,
crooked and lonesome,
beneath the eaves.
Nearly imperceptible,
those slow drops of water,
that torqued wilderness of form,
this stubborn and graceless
endurance of weather.
You can’t crack the rock
open. Nothing can make
stones split except water.
See how the gutters clog
again and again with leaf-fall,
twigs, the occasional acorn
squirreled in the mess
as the rain moves outside
the path which was made
for its flow, indifferent
to the slap of lightening,
the slow blur of thunder.
Loss walks unsolaced,
near-at-hand with a slim,
ceaseless patience.
The rain wets everything.
That which cannot be
remembered is lost
in the sound,
the everlasting funnel
of liquid descending,
deepening all around.
© 2006 Christine Klocek-Lim
Christine Klocek-Lim 
Christine,Wonderful imagery.eg. the slap of lightening, the slow blur of thunder.
Highly effective. Plain, unadorned description illuminated by some startling imagery – ‘the slap of lightening, / the slow blur of thunder’, ‘a slim, / ceaseless patience’, ‘the everlasting funnel / of liquid descending, / deepening all around’. Memorable.
Darma, I’m very pleased you liked this one. Thanks for stopping by.Dick, thank you for the kind words. I appreciate it.
I read a poem once about rain by a poet from Singapore (was it Alvin?) and i enjoyed it…but your speaking of the rain took my breath away, I am drenched and I am strangely warm by the latter rain that falls from your pen..the occasional acorn suirreled in the mess…
plus ultra, thank you. I am very flattered that you enjoyed this so much. I like the rain, actually, and often find myself writing about it.