TO EDWARD THOMAS ON A RAINY DAY
You tell me to watch the rain fall
on this city so far away from England
and the Welsh countryside
to notice drops on leaves
watch streaked wet windows,
gushing rain gutters from flats
shoes wet and muddy
moving along block by block
looking up, looking down
I listen and don’t listen,
you’re a dream fading in my hands
along with this paper that disintegrates
notes of you, lines left by a brook
somewhere high in the Scottish Highlands
and here in this urban darkness I remember, I forget
If only we could really talk
If only this were not a daydream
as I move around puddles and strangers
and you watch French rain come down on daisies
that guard your rest.
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