It keeps raining and the sky is filled with copper clouds
like the aftermath of cannon-fire,
pre-war, civil-war clouds -
and I feel all empty and bored and very much in love.

I wish you were here so we could stretch our legs down beside one another
and feel all warm and hidden in the bed,
like seeds beaten into the earth.

Why is there happiness and comfort and excitement where you are
and no where else in the world?
And why is there a sleepy tremulo in the air when you are near that's promising
and living like a vibrating fecundity?

If I try to write to you, it won't make sense because I love you too much
and I am as monotonous as the cricket that thinks he's a wireless apparatus outside my window,
and I'm so lazy and sleepier than midnight..