Rain on the Mountain

by Kathleen MacGregor

That day, it was raining on the mountain.

Dragons flew between wisps of vaporous exhalations.

The earth breathing deeply in her sleep,

my face wet with rain,

I phoned him to say I wouldn’t be home.

I was on the mountain in the rain.

My wildness had been touched

like a spark touching autumn grass.

I was alight.

I was the most myself I’d ever felt.

Now you come into my dreams,

like last night,

Sweetly pressing your tear to my cheek.

Your breath whispering, melting.

And then you’re gone.

And I realize it is I

who has left myself behind,

waiting for the joyous kiss,

that says I will stay.

I will.

Comments are closed.