We hosted rain the second day of spring:
a playful splash of water from the sky
that wet the wood and spattered everything,
impelling me to stay here where it’s dry
and I’ve a fire burning gas to warm
my place and soothe me with its orange light.
So I’m secure from what’s outside – this storm
is scant disturbance on a moonless night.

It doesn’t chase one petal from the plants
that started leafing out a month ago.
Prevailing breezes make the tree tops dance
but batter nothing down – this wind is slow
and wafts more than it gusts; a hissed refrain
reminds me that I’m grateful for the rain.