Thursday, March 13

the illusion of rain

leaving that place down the metal stair
even in the day, the black metal is slick and the hallway air smells of rain-
but back out into the wide pavement river
or a sweet but costly dream, from which i wake
thirsty-mouthed, dirtied and gaping
and your heart in my throat to cut off the air and water
which i remember somehow wanting

never here or there; always parched but never quite dry
eyes rolling back ecstatic or
(beg for rain, for chlorine, sea, soot or sky)

(Clifton, July 2011)

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