Abba, there’s a rush of Heaven-water out my window.
Sounds of earth and stones gulping, swallowing and gasping,
For more of Heaven’s gift.
Cool and pelting, still soft and warm
Against skin and mud and leaves.
Autumn burnt and crispy till,
Heaven wishes them soggy and limp.
The boldest ones still hang on branches
drip, drip, drip.
Almost xylophone, the pavement pings
a different tone
Than petal, blade or stone.
Night refuses to rest her head,
Keeps one lid drooping over dawn.