In The Very Dark

by Claire Dyer

In the very dark of the night it rained,
a fall of sudden and surprising rain
sounding like the sea or snap of sheets
shaken out for the line.

I lay and listened to its roar,
now sheet, now ocean roar,
with a dream of mirrors spooling in my head,
flickering the way home movies do,

so everything was real and nothing was;
on the screen saw Balmedie Beach and you,
in blue, arms out, head thrown back
and waiting for the rain,

knew then the second’s pause before it came
had always been the joy itself, not just a link between.