MEDITATION IN THE RAIN

In the premature falling
Night

Head bowed bent
Forward against the absence
Of an Indian Summer

Rain like Rice Crispies
Snap-crackle-popping
On the flapping plastic
Of my hood

Wind whipped ears

My eyes in custody
See only the ground
On which I walk

Isolated

The world empty now
Except for the odd stray
Runner squawking seagull
Scared crow

Swan heads buried
In the river

Hidden
But not hiding

I think of all the false
Belongings

I have tasted

The true belonging
Of Love

That draws me in

To the Claddagh church
Before Mass

Enfolded in the radiance
Of Your Face
Lifted up to intimate communion

Under Heavy Blankets

In the severe winters

Of our childhood

The wind roared

On rattling windows

Whistling haunting tunes

Through the gaps

The rain beating

On their thinness

It was close and fearsome

And thrilling

And frost when it came

Freezing the panes

Turned water to ice

In the taps

And we snuggled together

In double beds under

Heavy blankets peeping

At creepy shadows on the wall

I lay in bed now listening

To the wind blowing

On the double glazing

Of my middle age

Backing away muffled and muted

To The Quiet Come (Nairobi Prayer)

Rainfall 
In the evening 
Silencing

The barking dogs 
And screaming children, 

Drowning out 
The roar of traffic. 

And all that roars
And screams
And barks inside me

The traffic of my soul
The dogs inside my mind
The children of my heart

Are to the quiet come

In the steady fall 
Of heavy rain 

It’s easier to pray.