Four Seasons
accustomed as I was to spring,
rain and clouds and gray days
mixed with speckled sun, summer's
heat surprised me, dry and scorching
winds, and you a stranger on my block,
just visiting, with eyes that glowed
like embers, golden skin and hands
that left me parched and begging
for the frosty bite of autumn nights
and lovers burning angels in the snow
The Properties of Rain
If you look under your pillow you will find
the bottle of rain that I promised. This morning,
before you woke, I trapped a handful
of wayward drops as they tumbled through
the leaves of the oak tree in our backyard.
It was easy to do. I don't know why you
haven't tried. All you need is an empty
mayonnaise jar that you can offer
to the cloud that hovers over our house.
The trick is to stand quietly and wait
for the spark to ignite when water touches
skin. If you can trap that moment
in your jar, feel the heat burn your palms
through the glass, then maybe you will know
what I mean when I say I love you.
