After the rain

The wind took
the rain to town,
but from the still
                hurrying clouds 

seconds drop,
               as the leaves
               of an American oak in fall,

into this peninsula
                in time.

They will return
next year
among other leaves      
as red russulas.

Before my feet
a frog hops off
in search of a pool -
he finds there is
not enough water here.

I myself
drink deeply
the silence of these woods

and take that eternity
along, further
into time.