MICHAEL HALL
Visit North
After the clouds have moved in,
and eventually settle over the ranges
and plain—it begins to quietly rain.
Under the grey barn’s wall, you listen
to the fall, a corrugating sound on tin:
on grass, on farm track; and watch it form
a puddle; and you think back to all
the small round things that were found
like empty nests, on afternoons such
as this. And listen for the life of the sky.