Night Rain
by Todd Dillard
Like the first gods
emerging from the surf
the dogwoods shed
droplets of light.
And the puddles—they're silver
keys on the clarinet of our street.
Why should we close the windows
the way we close our minds
to thoughts of death.
Let this little dark,
this humble wet
shiver into our room.
Without silence
there is no music.
Let the silence
come. 
★ First published in ONLY POEMS ★
Stunning poem! Everything about it.
"silver
keys on the clarinet of our street" - such an evocative and unusual and beautiful description. The ending reminds me a little of Kenyon's Let Evening Come...not sure if that was intentional but it adds another layer to my reading of it.