"I listen while it rains..." From "Peoms (sic)." Written when I was 13 or 14.

I listen while it rains...
At 4 am, I light a candle and listen by the window. The candle burns dimly, yet seems bright against the blackness outside the window, where it sits on the sill.
The thought of clear, cool water dripping from the roof, splashing on the green leaves of summer.
Moths begin gathering on the screen. First one, he dances a bit, then another, smaller than the first. He flutters about. Then more join them.
The sprinkle is over. Now it's just the few drops falling from the trees, the moths on my screen and the frogs.



Author's note: The original poem has a drop of candle wax, from 35 (or so) years ago, covering the first half of the word "gathering." Candles belonged to a small group of simple things that I thought were magical, in those days. I guess part of me still feels that way.