Rainmaker

Tentative rain, and the light
is changing, the water ticking
in the leaves, pattering the sheets
as she turns to him, murmuring
slow and ready for the verge of flood,
the undertow's hard covenant,
the run of trust.
She feels something unfurling
in a glut of dew, a finger pushing
into a peach, peach-water welling
over fern and fruit; she tastes the curve
and ache in the weather.
He unhooks her, and
leaning in
he starts to make her rain.

Robin Robertson, "Rainmaker"