" Ten Ways to Hear Rain in Thailand "
First on the back of a beetle
then the leaves under a window opening
like green cups and you will hear them close
their mouths. It will be a sigh, the tin roof
singing to the rocks; words turning to the ground
and earth is a woman.
Who does not remember why she is here.
Silent her body calls. Quiet the shell of a beetle
floats to the surface, legs crossed in death
and your name falls from the sky
in an unknown tongue.
Lizards scatter across sand
their striped tails, muted rainbows
edging under your door. Remember the boats
in Boston, white swans folding their heads.
Here everything is noise
even the colors rattle on a wall.
There is no point to remember,
no place to say this is where I begin.
You start with the names of water; tomorrow
will be the sound of stone.
© 2003 Treezaa (T. E. Ballard)
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