Saturday, November 05, 2011

Rain and Sound


Rain and Sound

Listen to me as one listens to the rain:
we are distracted once again.  Night
approaches with its dense cloak of fear,
an assault for which there is no cure.
It is never winter here,
yet the hibiscus have been censored
like men trying to show their affection
for each other.  Air, water, and flower
there is no weight in these words.
Night has the figurations of mist.
Listen to me as one listens to the rain:
(Censor my desire for writing you poems.)
Not attentive, not distracted, only as if
I were the rain. Hear me out until
the asphalt is wet.  You are you
in night steam.  You enter my eyes
as your steam crosses the street. 
The sun does not varnish the curve.
We are both steam.   Steam of another
censored flower, lotus.

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