Late March woods
and the sound of fresh rain
on dry thin leaves
with paths of pine to
kettle ponds
drops on black water
forming circles circles
expanding and disappearing
the simplicity of sight and sound
in twilight cold with
blackish birds darting in
and out of brown cat tail reeds
listening and looking
toward the winter milky sky
rain sliding down round cheeks
like silent teardrops
neither happy or sad
no need for
anything else