Raining in Nantahala

It is raining tonight in the woods of Nantahala.
Water from the black sky is rinsing the woods clean.
The rain sounds like some tomorrow wishing to be
born differently: a day unlike all the others.

White moths flicker in this deluge, oblivious to the wet,
their small minds intent on the light only, that light
that whispers to them, that draws them to my cabin:
a whiteness that lures them from the pitch dark forest.

I am listening from the cabin, dry and hoping that the rain will go on
all night. There is so much to be undone that a brief and feeble storm
will not get the sweeping done. There is so much darkness ---
I fear that there will not be enough rain to cleanse it all.