Outside I saw the undergathered gloom,
the lawns all bright, the trunks all dark,
a thousand droplets hanging still
and over it a low-suspended grey.
The murmuring of mourning doves I heard
and also heard the streaming and the drip
of a wet world awaiting rain returning;
so meditative all, so still and bright.
This world of rain is all a world of light:
of running, braided light and sounding light
and light for all the senses–tasted light
as seems to be upon the air. As when
God spake and there was light, and yet
no sun or moon or stars or even eyes.
