Thanks be for hollows waiting
empty, ankle-
twisting, expectant
for the unseen next
storm, to hold
the overflowing.

Thanks be for the fresh
incision singing
pain, choreo-
graphing once mundane
movement, agony
of touch
and reach each
now a decision.

Thanks be for the days
of incessant rain
that sharpen
longing, gray drops
shimmering on
telephones wires,
the barely
visible silver lines
that run
through every clouding.