Stagger
from bed

into dim kitchen
before first light: there,

voice of steady rain
through open window.

“Steady there, ambition;
settle, urgency. No need

for haste.  No need
to water a garden, to

run, to do anything.
Turn around.  I will give you

a good day later.  For now,
sleep again, just a little.”

I do not make a practice
of arguing with rain; instead,

I sing “Hallelujah” modestly,
mostly mouthing it as I comply,

trusting that promise of
a good day later.  Rain’s always

made that promise,
always followed through.