Wednesday, March 23, 2005

The rain falls
like a woman
and the sky
is not strong enough.

A fox sits at my window
her yellow eyes
a thousand mirrors
biting at glass.

Tonight we are
each of us
curling our own tails
waiting to be fed.
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3 comments:

Peter said...

Wonderful poem; wonderful lightening flash. They really go together.

9:15 AM
Unknown said...

Ballard,

I think that the woman falling is not working on this piece.

d.

4:53 PM
LKD said...

Woman Falling Like Rain

(for you, TE)

You're all too familiar with her silent drizzle
that stretches out interminably

like a landscape or a day bereft of detail,
a hush that lulls you asleep.

Equally, you know too well the roar
of her downpour, a rush that wakes you

without fail from even the soundest sleep,
a sleep in which you dream you're furred,

a creature the color of desire running
on that edge where wilderness surrenders,

your tail flickering, aflame. The stranger
in the window stares back at you,

slant eyes as green as her gaze, the baring
of sharp teeth mistaken for a grin.

All night, the sky is veined. Dawn, finally unveiled
is as pale as your wrists, and as thin.

3:38 PM

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