Let That Fine Rain Fall

Into this dark truth            
which opens its cloak to shield us, dizzying, tidal;
opens its sad wings to shoo us away,
just to say yes,
let that fine rain fall on the threshold;
let it fall like wings beating, like a breaking-open.
As a messenger from far away,
drenched and burning with fever,
carries his despatch here, carries the word.
But the patterns of the rain spread out
and won't let us hear, won't let us see
what happens.   And that
is what comes up to us,
speaks to us
and grabs us by the shoulders,
what's shaking and shouting at us is the rain,
it's the horizon dissolving.
Now we shiver, we burn, facing that gateway,
facing that drawbridge no-one will drop.
No-one is going to listen.
This dark truth, this swaying lightness
like the whisper of endless bats,
all sensing their way,
all surging as one up the veins' living corridors, all trying
to flee the towers.
To say yes,
let that mist of rain fall against the threshold,
let it fall on the walls;
let it keep erasing them.