The Poetry Project

Three Poems

Dan Machlin

This rain before
it rains again and
rains so much you
say it isn’t so.
Because it rains
only when you care
to look, and take
a breath. It’s the
rain you love. This rain
becomes the rain,
rain, fortuitous
rain. It shades
everything with its
particular gloss. Its
wish is only the
rain. Some low-level
rain which thinks
it is all that is.

For years, you’ve
come back to this place
not a physical place
but a type of feeling.
Quietude of investigation
(you are quite proud
of the instinct) yet
when all is said and
done a marsh
still stands with ducks
in it, you still find
incidental garbage
in the woods.

Half the time you’re
working, and half
you’re not.
Down the road is
a coffee shop so
perfect it’s annoying.
Closure is divine
(or so they say).
The smudge of gray
skies, an archetype
whose passing train
shakes the bed.
To me, it’s unseen,
a belief in named
things, this field,
a horse, dirt
road, secluded lake.
Ache of past contours,
boundary that spirals
on from image to

Issue 15