Rain

We love the sound because it promises all slates
  may be wiped clean—all echoed untruths be drowned out—
    as though an ocean passed a hand over us and sighed,
      I give to you my ceaseless change; forget your doubts

      But there is not one drop of rain that can outlast
    its origins in tides that wreck and drown and hoard;
  and into the night—like serpents from a burning house—
these rivulets are streaming, running from the past