Rainy Day Voices

I rose as if from a bed of mud,
covered with a memory
of rain; your hand warm
and dry beneath mine. There
were no yellow tulips so early
in March so you held a bright
new jonquil before you in the other.

Closed eyes could hold the past
for only a moment before
losing it to the present.
It’s 7AM and last night’s wind
has brought Autumn's first rain,
sweet and noisy.

On the bedside radio a
girl with a rainy day voice
sings about love and tenderness
of being kind and generous.
She probably meant it
at the time.

Rainy day voices have accents
all their own, with a comeliness
that surrounds us in comfort,
collecting our secrets and
keeping us warm, somehow,
always keeping time with the rain.

The seasons have come to be
my time keepers, each with its
own way of piling days into months.
Today's rain is falling on dying mums,
and my cold empty hands.

We died long ago.