Tag: rain

fluttering-slips:

Late Night

Late night and rain wakes me, a downpour,
wind thrashing in the leaves, huge
ears, huge feathers,
like some chased animal, a giant
dog or wild boar. Thunder & shivering
windows; from the tin roof
the rush of water.
I lie askew under the net,
tangled in damp cloth, salt in my hair.
When this clears there will be fireflies
& stars, brighter than anywhere,
which I could contemplate at times
of panic. Lightyears, think of it.
Screw poetry, it’s you I want,
your taste, rain
on you, mouth on your skin.

Margaret Atwood

No Rain

And then
I heard
the sound
of rain
that’s the
air-conditioning
but what
makes
me
want
the rain
in here.
That’s you
says
Chris
being con-
nected
but no
I hoped
the darkness
meant
something.
I put
the heat
on before
I left
so I
could
come
in to
something
warm
not cold
bereft.
But it
wasn’t that.
Just
grey cold
drunken
grey
a day
full of
sticks and
plans and
flowers
for you.
I want
to wrap
them
in bamboo
or clay
I want
to hang
them on your
door
opening
the marvelous
concrete
truths
of what
you’re doing
now with
your hands
and ideas
I have
a secret
for you
the rain
is falling
through
a screen
I see
many of
us
I hear
a roar
what’s that
I asked
Chris.
That’s the
future
he said.
It’s
true

—Eileen Myles

Together with me recall: the sky of Paris, that giant autumn crocus…
We went shopping for hearts at the flower girl’s booth:
they were blue and they opened up in the water.
It began to rain in our room,
and our neighbour came in, Monsieur Le Songe, a lean little man.
We played cards, I lost the irises of my eyes;
you lent me your hair, I lost it, he struck us down.
He left by the door, the rain followed him out.
We were dead and were able to breathe.

Paul Celan, Memory of France  (via nemophilies)