Rainmaker
Sing that song you dark rainmaker
You who stand frozen in deep stride
Over our cities of the plain
You who flash breathless whites
And snap unearthly jaws
Sing that swirling mad twister
Of grey blues about our empty homes
You who to me are a mass of
Dreams expired in the dawn
Who’s going to tie you down tonight?
Sing of that marble river
Of our chase for the mystical tiger
Of our final journey as men
And cry for us
To sweep us away
The rainmaker was a poor mummer
Just a useless beautiful map he was
But we saw the map and were
Swept away from the mindless nothing
In the reggae blue
Zach Fechter lives and writes in Southern California. He has been published in Poetry Quarterly Magazine and Kind of a Hurricane Press. He is a graduate of Roanoke College in Salem, Virginia.
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