Abu Rakham

Soft

Atlantic

rain

kisses my scalp –

a thousand kisses –

though we are miles from any sea.

 

 

Frogs fill the night with their

machine‑gun love song,

drowning the

mosquito hum.

 

 

Gentle swish,

benign,

of raindrops on sapling leaves, old

thatch and

fresh grass,

 

 

moon only guessed at,

     hidden

by motionless cloud.

 

All these – all

you –

     people,

asleep on crooked beds,

not hearing the

creak of the wheel, but

turning with it

through sleep and

the changes it brings.

 

 

Tonight I learned I’ll leave this place:

suddenly I love it.

 

(Published in Other Poetry)