AUTUMN RAIN

I couldn’t sleep last night
or this morning. The clock
ticks slowly on the bedside table.
I imagine the sound
each cold drop of rain makes
as it falls on the burnished leaves
of the linden tree.

Nothing feels right
now that you’re gone, the arrangement
of silverware on the kitchen table, the way
this lambswool sweater irritates my skin
after a bath, how little
occurrences become catastrophes: the dog
coming in from the rain, a bird’s wing
in his teeth, the feathers rimmed with blood.