The smell of rain and turned garden soil

It’s raining on Liminga Road, feels like spring. Worms are working in the garden. Sal got a new bunny at the small animal swap at Erickson’s Feed and Seed.

Here are two poems from my upcoming collection Memories of When We Were Birds.

April, Poet, Rain

The canal is smooth and gray
as wet pavement. 3 black birds

fly west with some purpose
unknown to me, the only observer

who will relate this fleeting fact
to another living being.

As you read this poem
its purpose is fulfilled, surely

as my seeing 3 black birds
makes no difference to them,

already far away, their flight
unaltered by my witnessing.

And the waters, smooth and gray,
keep safe their secrets.


An early spring
does not bring
early summer –

the earth lies
under the sky,
bare as we are,

raw wound
in bracing air.
We need rain,

showers of warm love
before the well
runs dry.

About Ray Sharp

Poet, athlete, retired public health planner
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