Yves Bonnefy

Rain on the Ravine

I
It’s raining on the ravine, on the whole world.
Hoopoes settle on the barn like finials
For wandering columns of smoke.
Dawn, accept us once again today.
I heard the first wasp sound
Its small alarm already in the warmth
Of mist that closes in the path where
Water shimmers. Peaceful, invisible,
It’s searching. I might almost believe
I’m there listening to it. But its hum
Grows louder only as image. Under my feet
The path is no longer a path, only my dream
Of the wasp, the hoopoes, the mist.
I loved to step outside at dawn. Time slept
In the embers, pillowed on ash.
Our bodies breathed, at peace in the upstairs bedroom,
Slowly discovered as the shadows ebbed.
II
Unforgettable, rain of summer mornings
Plashing against the window of the dream
Like first frost; and the sleeper cast
Free of self, seeking with naked hands
The warmth of the other body, still asleep,
In the sound of rain falling upon the world.
(Sound of rain in bursts upon the roof-tiles,
Fitful advance of the room
On the rising swell of light.
The storm
Has overrun the sky, the lightning flash
Ends in a great brief cry,
The wealth of thunder spreads itself abroad.)
III
I wake and see
Our boat has turned around during the night.
The fire is almost out.
Cold presses like an oarstroke on the sky.
And the surface of the water is only light.
But underneath? Colorless tree trunks, branches
Entangled as the dream, and stones
That let the rapid current close their eyes,
And smile in sand’s embrace.