When the children were small and sleeping,

the night warm and raining,

I would go out to a place under the broken

eaves. Naked, yes. And standing under,

wash my hair with rain and the dark of night.

I could hear cars on the other side

of the duplex. I could smell the sheets

upstairs. I still couldn’t touch anything

labeled future. Lonely in the rain,

the spirit is beautiful. It can marry

the heart for no one to see. Like I said,

I washed my hair under the broken rain,

and stood there in the night, glistening.

From Rattle.com, source