a sound when autumn comes. Yellow
pulls across the hills and thrums,
or in the silence after lightning before it says
its names - and then the clouds' wide-mouthed
apologies. You were aimed from birth:
you will never be alone. Rain
will come, a gutter filled, an Amazon,
long aisles - you never heard so deep a sound,
moss on rock, and years. You turn your head -
that's what the silence meant: you're not alone.
The whole wide world pours down.
AssuranceYou will never be alone, you hear so deep
by William Stafford
it's stopped raining. But yesterday in the car small sections of the poem read themselves to me as I drove home.