Poetry is music, but the reverse is also true.
Listen to this, and it will make your Thursday better.
The weariness of day brimming in your shoulders
So all you can do is stretch out on the grass,
Though you know the rain is coming.
The air, fresh on your face,
Smells like liberty and fresh-turned earth,
Swaying your hair into a waltz
Across your face.
And you blink in the wind that lashes tears into your eyes,
Though you feel no sadness, you let them fall,
Some rain to wash off the dust of routine,
To wipe the grime from the window-glass.
The first drops fall from the clouds,
Peaceful, without hurry,
Beading up and resting on the grass where they land,
Rolling, vanishing into the dirt.
Slow trails slip down the leaves of the live oak not far away.
With little notice, the sky is opened,
Like a gate swung wide before caged wild horses,
And all the heavens rush forth,
A veritable flood.
And you breathe it all in
Your aching limbs lying gracelessly
Are drenched and seem to come alive,
Arms stretching up aimlessly
To feel the dead air wash into existence,
Movement everywhere —
From the brown shoes of grass
To the green hats waving free in the hands of the oak,
Like saying hello or goodbye
(There’s little difference now).
So whatever trickling droplets escaped your eyelids
Are now lost,
The storm wipes off all trace,
And no one will know.
(Note: The film that features this song is stellar and one of my favorites.)
Michael Brook’s “Goodbye Eilis” (from “Brooklyn”)