The line always there

Darkness and rain: an ancient feeling.
Alone, roofed under rain, I stream out

like hair in water. I am here but free,
the River is loosed about our wires and treetops

and fills the dark garden, all things
are held in themselves, are attentive, are night

and have passage. Rain over the railway bridges,
rain over the freeways and on, a light chases rain

and dips in scrub, darkness of the seacoast
by unfooted dunes, white crests running in the thought,

the line always there, slipping and spreading
on, the high point breaking, an equilibrium.