An angled rain goes darting
into our tousled lawn.
The six-week drought is over.

The hare who crops the grasses
is questioning the air,
his ears erect for danger.

My slow steps down the garden
at length disturb the hare.
He looks, and does not linger.

The hour-long downpour passes.
Shadows are reborn.
The sun brings forth a reader.

The reader is my lover.
She lounges in a chair,
her feet up on another,

as when our love was starting.
Thank God she didn’t scare
when first I went towards her.