Listening to the drip drip of rain on the migraine
and feeling the earth soak beneath boots, sinking
unstable and the air full of shimmering, I walk
beneath dripping trees, where birds watch for worms,
and the background noise shrinks to the song of
nightingales, tirelessly ignoring storm and downpour.
I walk a path between grasses shoulder high, bowed
by lead crystal drops, and the clamour soothes,
cooling the blood with rain drip dripping
from the pigeon-grey eaves of the sky.