IX rain

The rain is great for lovers, and it shows
By falling gently when vows are renewed,
And soaking most strategically through clothes,
Or sheeting down when flight calls for pursuit.
At night, it mirrors passions in the bed,
With gusts and sighs and rattling window frames,
Or if someone is feeling scorned instead,
Makes puddles ripple endlessly. Like pain.s
I love the rain itself, and am content,
Though it be fickle, yet it comes again,
And brings along each green delicious scent
Of spring, and thence no sorrow may refrain.
   Whether my heart be cracked or honeyed sweet,
    It's song will ever lull me into sleep.

To David Ferry's "Seen Through A Window"

You say she has plump milk arms
(The woman at the table)
Flowered with a blue bruise,
A cornflower kiss,
From some menial task.

Maybe her husband beats her,
Or perhaps he printed it on her mottled skin
With the hot and tender mouth
That even now gently masticates his food.
Perhaps they cannot wait for the end of dinner,
And bed.
Perhaps they are dreaming of other dinners,
Tables, and different chairs.
Yes, they are very beautiful in the green light,
Bearing each other up and down
Through the years and body of the room.

As seen through windows,
Aren't we all stones singing underwater?
Whatever we know of each other,
Is like these blue and milk kisses,
Is like a stone.




Here's a link to the wonderful David Ferry poem that inspired this one:
http://faculty.washington.edu/rmcnamar/383/ferry.html
(sorry, seems you'll have to cut and paste it into the browser)