One take on obscurity in poetry. Another forthcoming.

                  To give back to the rain
  what was announced on the rooftops
  in whispers, at the end of May –
  the rain, a drowsy origin
  cradled in the huge bronze
  and silver of twisted beech.

   
                  Your sounding, not like laughter
  on dry streets, nor an obituary
  reminiscence, give and take
  of battering wind – but slight
  drumming on rough graves, midway
  from the obscure haze of a lamp.