In the rain

By Gerald McCarthy

When the gray sweeps in
and it starts —
the quiet sound grows
I see you clearly then —
walking down the stone
stairs, your hair shining
in fading light,
your dark hair glows
with the rain
and still, and still
I cannot let go —
I fall and get up
and there in the distance
the sea
glistens with rain
with its silver coins
its light —
and you, there
along the rail, still
walking down toward
me, toward wherever
we were or are now —
lost, found, lost again
in the mist rising,
and morning rain
like memory, like a sudden
rush of tears and joy
and hope.