On three sides of the stretcher bed
where I half-sleep, rainwater runs down
boughs all broken out in buds, out there
in the world the porch screen cuts up
into tiny, very perishable rectangles.
Rain putters down on the wood shingles overhead,
now smattering heavily, becoming
a language I think I will learn one day,
now slackening, making the sounds
of delicate kissings between one and one,
which some memorize even into the grave;