Ah, the sound of rain,
  calls in the night,
Rising and falling in urgency,
A whisper
  not more than breath on the wind,
Then deafening roar,
Fickle and violent,
Then why so lovely and loved?

Time would chide lovers
That passions in the rain are but fevers,
   phantoms burning in the night air-
Tiresome words to those who would live
  and let damned the dawning of day
When such phantoms may burn out in the morning lights.

Sleep filled houses,
Empty cars sleeping under watchful halogens,
All islands amid lakes
  and oceans on the sidewalk.
Fall again like chapel bells,
  and float into my hands
While I walk through the river lands,
And listen to the song of tide,
Pitter pat,
   pitter pat.