Rain & Her Blankee

There is a blanket
warm and dry
while puddles pool a darkened sky
reflecting circles damp and deep

There is no storm --
just silent sleep.

There is a body
flesh and blood
as mortal mountains feel the flood
lower valleys drown the night

There is no storm --
just hidden light.

There is an odor
warm and damp
a memory cave where She makes camp
the nesting cloth, one centered space

There is no storm --
but just Her place.