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by tony baldwin
(June 1991)

I

I awake at 9 a.m. to the sound of the rain

and can't get back to sleep again.

So I sit on the porch and watch the puddles form,

watch the black bird bathing in the rain.

Some would call this a portent;

Blackbird, grey cloud, chill teasing rain…

But I know better than to look at the future like that.

I don't look at it at all.

I have this day to listen to the rain

as it cleanses my world

washes it clean again.

II

Later on that day I find you blowing bubbles.

Like the bubbles in puddles I know that they are good.

They float away with the clouds, just wandering,

No place particular to go. And I can go too.

You say you find four-leaf clovers as we walk you home.

You share your luck. It comes off in your hand.

And in your lips

I feel myself going with the bubbles and the clouds

and returning with the rain.

III

Soldiers have been coming home for days.

Students are returning their books.

Much knowledge passes through these walls.

Many deaths for dollars have kissed this year.

But I can only die to myself time and again.

Today I only live to hear the music play,

to feel the wind and the rain coming down

to explore the world

within

whatever makes us

who we are

you and I

and wherever we can go…

IV

I have no fear of darkness

of lightning and of rain.

Although the storm is violent

all becomes clean again.


© anthony baldwin
(written June 1991, Purdue University-West Lafayette, IN)


art of tony baldwin - a book of poetry and art


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