CATHERINE GRAHAM

Pluck a Raindrop Before its Fall

The weather works its way through our bones,
air, struck from life,
thins by the gesturing sea, the bring cycle.

Let’s squeeze sky into rain. 
Light, 
like all feathers, gathers to make us bird. 

The many-eyed cloud with 
its crackle-blinks—
we write our way through grief.

Clothes handle 
the future now. Blood 
once played beneath—

O robin in morning, tree-frogged leaf, 
we’re as layered 
as paper and don’t know how to fold.