Easter Rain

(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

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