The Rain
All
night the sound had
come
back again,
and
again falls
this
quiet, persistent rain.
What
am I to myself
that
must be remembered,
insisted
upon
so
often? Is it
that never the ease,
even
the hardness,
of
rain falling
will
have for me
something other than this,
something
not so insistent --
am I
to be locked in this
final
uneasiness.
Love, if you love me,
lie
next to me.
Be
for me, like rain,
the
getting out
of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust
of intentional indifference.
Be
wet
with
a decent happiness.
No comments:
Post a Comment