Likestarlings

Presence

When it was time, you held your doll
and sat on your dad’s shoulders
under his umbrella, under that shade of dark.

As he walked through the rain’s perpetual tune
chancing your childhood, brightening the grey
you hummed how the raindrops drummed the black cloth:

tap-tap, tap-tap, the rainwater was fragmented
into separate tones, each drop a note in music,
you closed your ears half on yourself, half on your voice;

it conjured the rhythm of your flight
among the people in the street and you wished
no ending, no landing, no being alone.

Now it’s raining again and you feel the sky
could stay over the clouds for ever:
harmony expands her hold on daylight

and the day is spread out by its form
while her lover’s hand on her shoulder
rejuvenates the membrane of her smile.

Tap-tap, tap-tap, the rainfall cannot reach her
under the transparent bell of her umbrella:
the drummer on her way to the shrine of melody

she hears the passers-by praising
one who has directed the rainwater concert –
the composer returns to the certainty of her song.