Sitting Under a Tree, In the Rain, 2000

reading a book of poetry

or maybe short stories, or

both — it’s hard to tell

with this author; rich wet air,

occasional drops falling into

my hair, onto the pages, and I

am purely happy, in a way

that is like riding your bike

down a very steep hill, or

wading in a stony brook —

it is a way that I knew

how to follow once, but

for a long time, I

have been too scared —

to read a book,

under a tree,

in light rain.