Phantom Rain

I thought I heard rain fall,

but when I looked

I couldn’t see any.

And yet,

the phantom rain kept falling.

It drummed on the tin roof;

steadily and unrelenting.

It meant no offence.

Again and again I would look.

Again and again I could not see.

The phantom rain kept falling.

Finally,

I could stand it no longer:

I opened the door,

stepped out of my house;

Rain drops fell gently on my face.

I stood for a long time in that rain;

my hair and clothes soaked,

my cupped hands running over.

I knew then that I’d been blind.

*