Yellow Grain Raincoat

author’s note:

Another poem previously posted and recently revised.  I’m still finding the answers.

“Is there a human mouth that doesn’t give out soul-sound?”
                                         – Rumi


YELLOW GRAIN RAINCOAT

I’m a raincoat--
a ghost shifting through grain--
watching a harvest of rain slowly approach
              --the shadow slants down
                  from a distance black cloud.

I’m a raincoat--
before I arrived in this field
I traced an erratic pattern
through drenched city streets
where people ran--
looking for umbrellas
and newspapers.
Only the blind beggar
saw me hobbling.

I’m a yellow grain raincoat,
but I haven’t yet learned
how to shelter anyone--
except for a single dripping dog.

I’m a raincoat, even though
I have a blank for a mouth--

but the promise is still being kept--
the construct still being hammered
into shape.

However, at the moment,
many questions remain questions.
For example:
how far down I do place the stones
for that foundation?

And also--

How can I keep the sod
from eroding off
the roof?

Peculiar ideas
come to the surface
like worms after a storm.

I wish you could help,
but you can’t--
I can’t ask you--
I won’t ask--

even though
you know these stones.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
shameless self-promotion