Poems

The Rain Is Falling

By Peter Halstead

The rain is falling after summer,
A run of constant sun and sky’s
Disintegration, breaking up the patterns
Of eternal doom, of ancient blue,
The robin’s egg of all those days
Underneath the iron dome
Of Convection Bake and bloom, the end
Of nation on a Pacific coast
In flames, while, on the high brown
Fields of wheat, we wait for snow,
For anything old-fashioned, remembered,
Windy, whistling, slow, - not hot,
And definitely not embered.

Rosebud, September 12th, 2024