The Falling Poem by Elizabeth Spires

It rains and it keeps
raining, and there is
no sound except the sound
of the rain falling,
a sound with small
silences in between,
like music we can't
understand, expecting
each moment to be
filled with something.

The sound does not
explain the trees,
the yellow trees,
whose leaves are falling
like the rain, so
silently, leaving me
at a loss, completely
at a loss, leaving me here
and you there and so much
unspoken between us.

Soon it will cease,
the endless falling,
so that the silence
will come to be a sound,
and the sound of falling
will recede, no longer
enclosing the trees,
each in their posture
of grief, whispering,
teach me how to live.