The Cough Bellows

A drip in the dark,

No peace of mind when

A cough tickles you

To deadly wakefulness.

If only the rain that

Drips—trickling in the

Gutter and off the roof side—

Could write letters for

Illness to read, responding

With its own drastic echo—

Maybe it could rid

The cough from lungs that

Need a break—that need

Mending, but the rain cannot

Write and the cough

Bellows deeper in the dark

Against the quiet drip

From the misty outside.