House Of Rain
Trees out the window, the mild wind carried
the bright day, attracting birds, starry-eyed,
young, we would lean out over the yard, man
renewing freedom, bureaucracy wan;
from the North, the night lights flying down here
in all sororities, death upon death,
ponytail of drawn hair, and covert breath.
When we, safe indoors, caught the lamplight there
I wanted to dance, you had time to spare:
a solitary bird against the sky,
black and white, grayscale, formed the photos my
camera took of your sunward day’s life,
walking always with the future in hand—
meandering through the prayers for your wife.
And now the years have passed, I contemplate
the house of rain with jasmine from far lands—
that melts upon your skin, and remember
the laundry and cleaning in short demand,
the moments of rock-clear bath salt, water
hot, pen even and scribbling down the faults
I had of being late and peach cobbler.