The Silent Hour

I have been up reading

for hours, maybe.

I find myself awake

at a time

that is considered

neither early morning

nor late night,

but merely

the time

of hollow stillness

and giant

clock sounds.

I look up from my book

and from the window

see rain-

fall

like paint drippings;

turning the grey asphalt

gold.

I also, am in the midst

of a rain;

a time

when the ground chokes

with everything

it has been needing.

I need

living water.

I need

a cup

that overflows.

I need

this rain

to pour down

and drown

what needs drowning.