I wrote this on 9/12/01. It’s the only thing I have ever written about 9/11, and one of my very few poems.

A comforter Of mottled gray-black clouds To hide beneath.

 

We need it to rain.

 

Not the flash and bellow of thunderstorms,

But just a drizzle,

A soft mist, for a day and a night

And a day.

 

A comforter

Of mottled gray-black clouds

To hide beneath.

Tiny silver droplets

To run in thin, gleaming sheets

And wash the dust from the faces

Of great, sad buildings,

 

Rain,

To wet the grass,

And drip from the eaves of a million homes,

Murmuring gently in the gutters and downspouts,

Soothing us when we awaken in darkness,

Afraid in the night.