Gift of the Rain    by  Bill Pitt

A rope runs over the side
its easy unlimited enthusiasm
a kellick's desire for depth and holding

in the wind    The salt is your salt
in the snap of river's broken glass
against a varnish side

The hard comfort rocks to a time
you can only surrender
eventually forgetting its absence

Shipped oars and the green copper of their blades
What drank and breathed and flew and swam
What stood and bent and burned and shone

Molecules of sugar
singing all through my head

© Bill Pitt