And I in My Bed Again

Last night tossed in my bed the sound of the rain turned me around, a leaf in a dried gully from side to side, the sound of the rain took me apart,        opened to                 what is it? breath caught in memory of a deep sweetness that sound unceasing delicate,                the wetness running through my body It might be nighttime in a forest hut, the rain constant in little rivulets splashing, at times uncertain— safe in each other's arms, the rain sheltering us       a depth opening bottomless to a terrible sweetness, the small rain shaking us in our bed (the terror) whispering End of a season, wind from the west new york, 1982