After Rain (Eleven Degrees)

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I slept through rain that fell, autumnal warm,
to the still garden under hurrying skies,
to soak so deep into this algae-greened,
weathered table, beading bare trees with
soft illuminations, under a cloud-white eye -
the grass pearl-strewn, untidy, a spilled
treasure-hold.
___________The little fly who hastens
over paper, purposively, hitches up her
long Elizabethan dress of wings; the big
black fly's too plum fussy to settle fuzzed feet
in the wet.
_________Less so myself, a forearm damp
through shirt with casual leaning on said
table-edge.

Yet, I imagine the rain falling a catharsis
of this moody sky, whose darker smokes
have ashened aftermaths, as pale I woke
from vexed dreams of vented resentments,
tempered at the end by soothing scenes:-
my children, parents, poetry, music; so...
that quiet  xylophones sweetly within me.




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