(In memory of Eugenio Montale)
It’s raining on the cedars and the Easter eggs and
raining on the dancers and the bishop’s motorcade.
It’s raining on Chet Baker’s flugelhorn and on the fog that coils
around the hearts of lovers
waiting to be asked to dance.
It’s raining in ballrooms in Jerusalem and raining
in the House of Representatives, raining on the pilgrims
wading in the waters that flood the Savior’s tomb, raining
on the hearts of seekers
waiting for the hidden sun.
It’s raining on the lovers on the Vía de Los Sueños,
raining in the Virgin’s womb and on the fog that came to us
in March and never left and raining on the rain that closed the doors
on lonely hearts the day
they said Chet Baker died.
It’s raining on us all as we beg for it to cease and raining
on the faithful waiting for Godot to roll away the stone and lift the fog,
and praying for the Angel to sound the flugelhorn and bring the
sun in hopes that Jesus sees his shadow,
or else it’s going to rain
on all of us forever.
© 2006 J.M. Keating