Morning Rain
but the weather is warm
and the first drops
were lost upon my skin.
The rest I invited in:
wanton fingers
ran sweetly
down my back.
Where have I been?
As far as you imagine:
to a place where
daylight moans
in autumn�s rusted fields.
Now I�m home again,
a ghost beside you at the window,
glad so much depends on what we feel.
November 8, 2006
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