Well, it is raining, and the raindrops make <br />Furtive areolas in the puddles of muddy bellies, <br />And their mists are like nebulous shrouds, <br />And unfertilized thoughts of maidens dreaming of <br />Weddings and fine bachelors in their highest high towers- <br />And I am warm, as down in the valley the safe cabins <br />Huddle against their pines like satisfied lovers, <br />And I read my book once more the way a captain checks <br />Over his ship preparing for embarkation, <br />For I will be published mutely and celebrate with my dogs <br />In the consolatory monsoons of this lush season; <br />For it is what I can hope for, and my smiling mother’s eyes, <br />And the way the doors lay sometimes half open letting <br />In the glows; but I cannot love her anymore, when my <br />Words grow tangled about my mind like weeds and skeins <br />Of my dead aunt’s yarn the kittens have playfully disemboweled, <br />For on the swings so far away she is moving in her arcs <br />As the policemen patrol her, and the apex where her legs grow <br />Up together and into the seat of a tall ladder placed below <br />Her window where the work is finished and she leans outwards, <br />Her eyes so maple and October, and she sighs never thinking <br />How the rain touches me, as if the kisses from cold little children, <br />Never once desiring her match-head, and the humming bloom <br />Of a single kiss....<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-single-kiss-2/
