poemfast

*first night home after being gone for three seasons about six months ago



Last night there was some rain,
and I felt the first twang of loss,
already,
since moving.
The mountain rain is gone, for me.
The pattering, slow, heavy, dirty-cotton-sky-days.
I saw a fox in its den just weeks ago
during a rain like this
ornamentally folded behind the full tuft of its tail
spooky and quiet.
Romantic streetlamps are in tonight's mist
below me, three stories.
This balcony is dark and urban, seems so richly
and so perfectly set—
the kind with bricks and wood and a hammock.
A small table here in the corner
breezy and spattered wet in the amorous city-light-rain.
City life. City rain.
I like to see the tops of umbrellas
the wet shoes that swing out from under them
in the falling night.