Psychoanalysis of Water

The clock here is quiet. Into the rain’s applause, a woman rises fatigued. Tablets dissolve in a glass by the bed. The wind lifts, branches animating inconsonant darkness. She undoes her gown, lays it over the bedpost. Seductive leg hair. Almost dawn, she makes coffee like that. Low thunder, glints of lightning, the dog’s concern.Rain on the roof, friends walking across my grave