Once I wrote about the rain—
A November night when rain was past
& I was very young or less than half
The age I then became

In those days I had to find pain or invent it
I knew a little but I was safe
From the long pain
The winnowing & worrying & whittling pain
Cutting every last moment
Down to splintered ice

I was young in that November
& thought nothing real of rain or night

Have we ever stepped out of the greylight?
Always we walk in the glooming-gloaming
Born in dusk & returning to it
Feigning steady farmland in sun
But we hunt at heart & we are roaming
Greylight children with our twilight burdens
Laying down to die beneath the stars we named
To feel less alone