Rain patters on my roof
with the paws of a small animal
and the wind whisks its tail
down my fireplace chimney.
Snug in my solitude of blankets
under shelter of a roof I watch
leaves twist on their stems while
branches toss and rise like waves.
I comfort myself with this
moment of right action when I
keep the storm outside and lie here
in the calm of inner weather.
Lying in bed, listening to the rain,
secure under the arched hands of the
roof, in an embrace of blankets,
I squat in the cave of my mind before
a small fire and unpack the secret
comfort wrapped in thoughts and feelings.
Snug in my cave I inspect these
treasures while the feet of the rain
dance to the wind’s tune on the roof.
Not artifacts and shards and fossils
of my past, no plaster-of-Paris replicas
on exhibit in public places, but precious
ore mining from the heart’s mountains,
nuggets from its living streams, here are
mementos laid out on the blanket we
weave together, my dear, not yet finished,
its black border shot through with streaks
of despair and grief, but now brighter
colors of trust begin the pattern we
designed. Snug in my cave, hidden from
view, I think of you and warm myself
with the fire built from moments a man
gathers for his own sake for comfort
on a stormy day, under the shelter of
a stout roof aching to be discovered
by your need to share his fire.
