Shout hail

Somewhere it rains
Somewhere you go out
In the first shreds of rain
Wreathed in ice-cream breath
Not here
Here you stay in
After the lash
After the capsize threat
After the rimfire cadence snare
The ground and branches ricochet
In that frenetic St Vitas dance
Of tremolo ingrained
In the timpanic surface
Shout, hail
The rivers coalesce
Become trees
Everyone steps outside
In the bruise-belly afterglow
In the broken, fever-pale wax
Solemnly righting bins and barrows
As if these were the remains
Of reliquary saints, or fallen cricketers
Resurrected to defend the crease
Of warfare green limned in wounds
Of white-stained efflorescence