Late night, late love, and at the window, rain,
And then the aftermath of love and rain,
The wakefulness beside a kitchen window,
The whole house quiet as the soul of darkness
Except for the sounds of two clocks ticking,
Or one blind clock on the cloud-lit wall
And another going tock tock in the downspout.
The rain could spill from the leaves for an hour.
I stand in darkness at the bedroom door
And catch your feathered breathing, slow and pure,
Easy as a heartbeat or the summer rain,
Then wander back for a glass of water
And only the slow tock tock of the rain
To tell me I am breathing in my time again.