Falling Skyward
By Gray Davidson
Rain falls in sheets,
And though I am dry,
I feel the weight of water,
Bowing my head.
But who am I
To say it falls?
And but for sodden aftermath,
The sky might just as well
Be drinking its fill of the earth.
My eye cannot follow
The falling of the rain,
Or, if you will,
Its rising.
I can merely sit,
Behind a framework
Of wood and cobwebs,
And watch the rain
Fall skyward.
The image is of a grey world, outside the open entrance to the lower bunks at Sky Meadow. The outside world is obscured by the falling water, and I sit inside, perhaps cross-legged on the flagstones there, and watch it fall…or rise…