Enter without knocking, hard-working ant. <br />I'm just sitting here mulling over <br />What to do this dark, overcast day? <br />It was a night of the radio turned down low, <br />Fitful sleep, vague, troubling dreams. <br />I woke up lovesick and confused. <br />I thought I heard Estella in the garden singing <br />And some bird answering her, <br />But it was the rain. Dark tree tops swaying <br />And whispering. "Come to me my desire," <br />I said. And she came to me by and by, <br />Her breath smelling of mint, her tongue <br />Wetting my cheek, and then she vanished. <br />Slowly day came, a gray streak of daylight <br />To bathe my hands and face in. <br />Hours passed, and then you crawled <br />Under the door, and stopped before me. <br />You visit the same tailors the mourners do, <br />Mr. Ant. I like the silence between us, <br />The quiet--that holy state even the rain <br />Knows about. Listen to her begin to fall, <br />As if with eyes closed, <br />Muting each drop in her wild-beating heart.<br /><br />Charles Simic<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-morning-2/
