Pillowtalk
Are you asleep? We lie here hearing the rain in the dark. I want to ask you, Why is it all so strange? I'm sleeping and dreaming of the rain in the dark, in the dark ground. I'm ranging out, ranging far. You're lying here beside me as you've always lain. But it all keeps changing, changing. Is it your voice or the rain I hear like somebody weeping? Lie easy, love. We're out of danger.
from Finding My Elegy: New and Selected Poems (HarperCollins, 2012)
Anything by Le Guin is fine by me.
This poem feels like one of those late‑night moments when everything is quiet but your mind won’t settle.
The rain becomes this soft background presence, almost blending with the speaker’s own thoughts.
There’s something deeply intimate in wanting to ask, “Why is it all so strange,” yet keeping the question inside.
The drifting into dreams dark ground, far‑off places, captures that feeling of slipping away even while lying next to someone.
I love how the poem holds both closeness and distance at the same time.
The repetition of “in the dark” gives the whole scene a hushed, half‑awake atmosphere.
Change hangs over the lines like a quiet truth the speaker can feel but can’t quite name.
The weeping sound, whether rain or voice, adds a touch of vulnerability that feels very real.
“Lie easy, love” comes across as a gentle attempt to steady the moment, to keep things from unraveling.
It’s a tender snapshot of two people sharing a bed while the world—and maybe their inner worlds quietly shift around them.