Broken pebbles / scratched white with another stone, June, 1985, St. Abbs, The Borders © Andy Goldsworthy
Is there thunder where you live?
Because I'm being put to bed by it.
Do you hear violent drops on your ceiling?
First a thud, then their gentle disintegration sliding down the glass,
and the gasp of the grass as its opening wide
the mouth, waiting patiently for this moment,
cumbersome to the walkers,
a lullaby to me,
life to it, springing.
Alone in your apartment,
where silence is enjoying an unwelcome stay,
is this April shower finally making it vanish?
Could it maybe fall hard on you, cracking open all your wounds
and ravaging them deeply, until there is nothing left?