Rain Dancer

by Jeffrey Cyphers Wright

It’s raining. Crooked trees
wear the greenest moss.

Every day a lesson sticks,
adding to the stack of needles.

So much currying,
so little favor.

So much scurrying,
just to hold steady.

By the time I get to Phoenix,
I’ll be Icarus.

Lord of the wings,
in charge of falling.

Rain.  Moss, so green.
Today I am all I have given.