The Rains Came


The rains came and

we were kept inside;

it felt right to be

eclipsed for the first

time, to be engulfed

and you close but afraid

to accelerate in free fall

from record miles. Thunder,

lightning signaled we’d

passed the speed of sound.

After daring atmospheres we

only wanted to be alone, to

make love, swell cloud

like, and be intoxicated.


Our first was born in

the hollow of the night.

I phoned everyone I’d

met to say, “I have a

son.” Not one was angry

and the men especially

were kind and their wives

came on the line and

I apologized for the time.


When I write, I’m alone

but when I surface you

look first while I smoke;

I hate separation but you have

no idea of the amazing

terrains, the guardians I meet,

how often I stop to take

adjectives describing you

before leaving upward

in a stream.





Charles Bane, Jr. is the American author of The Chapbook ( Curbside Splendor, 2011) and Love Poems ( Kelsay Books, 2014). His work was described by the Huffington Post as “not only standing on the shoulders of giants, but shrinking them.”  Creator of The Meaning Of Poetry series for The Gutenberg Project, he is a current nominee as Poet Laureate of Florida.


Cover photo: Allen Forrest