Three Poems


        When the day’s rain has ended
and the sky wears it dark as a stain

    go and see what you have collected: water
filling up the flower boxes, overflowing the teacups

    you left on the porch.
Go and see how still it has become

    in your unintentional catching,
how it seems to sleep.

    How the cold night coming hushes it further, brushes
away its shivering with icy fingers

    until the water seems encased in glass,

    museum safe.

People on couch
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