Three short lines are enough here to hold a whole mood. A speaker lies on a bed, notices that the rain has stopped, and realizes that the only thing still falling in the room is themselves. Matthew Ricks never says "I feel low" or "I am tired." He lets one small comparison between raindrops and a body do the work. The central idea is the sense of emptiness when something that kept you company disappears. Once the weather stops performing, the speaker is left alone with their own heaviness.
The title and the first line play against each other in an interesting way. The title, "The rain stopped," is a flat statement of fact. The poem then opens with a question: "Where has the rain gone?" The speaker obviously knows the answer, since the title has given it. So the question isn't really a request for information. It sounds more like a sigh, or a small protest at being abandoned. Judging by the wording, the rain mattered to the speaker. Its sound and motion may have filled the room or covered a low mood, and now that cover is gone. The poem doesn't explain this, but the tone of the question suggests it.
The form is compact and carefully weighed. Counted in ordinary pronunciation, the lines run five, seven and five syllables, the pattern associated with haiku. That is a fitting container for a poem about a brief, sharp moment of noticing. There is no rhyme, and none is needed. The poem's music comes from plain speech rhythm, and a rhyme might have made the moment sound neater and more comforting than it is. The line breaks matter more. The second line, "The only thing falling here," ends on a pause, and the sentence is not finished. We expect something rain-like to follow: leaves, drops, snow. Instead the subject arrives at the start of the third line, "is me." That small drop from one line to the next acts out the falling it describes. The reader is let down a step, just as the speaker is.
The key word is "falling." It belongs naturally to rain, which is something that falls without effort. Applied to a person, it takes on other meanings. It can mean flopping onto a bed after a long day, or it can mean a deeper collapse of spirits, a falling apart. The poem keeps both readings open, which is part of its quiet power. The word "here" also does some work. It pulls the poem indoors and narrows the world to one room. The rain belonged to the wide outside, while "here" is small, enclosed and personal.
The final phrase, "me, on my bed," is plain on purpose. The comma after "me" makes the speaker pause, as if looking down at themselves and taking in the sight. The repeated "m" sounds in "me" and "my," together with the soft closing word "bed," bring the poem to rest. After the motion of "falling" the poem comes to a stop, much as the rain did. There is also a faint dry humor in it. The comparison is a little absurd, since a person on a mattress is hardly a downpour, and that self-mockery keeps the poem from becoming heavy or self-pitying. The speaker can laugh at their own situation while still feeling it.
This is what makes the poem worth reading closely. It shows how much a short poem can carry when every word is doing a job. It makes one image, rain falling and then a body falling, and trusts the reader to feel the gap between them. It also treats an ordinary, almost trivial moment, the end of a rain shower, as worth attention. Many people have felt the odd letdown when a steady background sound suddenly cuts out and leaves the room too quiet. The poem catches that feeling exactly, and it leaves us with the speaker still lying there, without comfort or explanation. That unresolved ending is where the poem's emotion lies.