In which the rain pours slowly.

[ungeziefers]

In which the rain pours slowly. 

In which fog draws breath to snatch
     the gauzy veil of morning from under
our sleep. In which the world is a slur of vaporous
     green blurring on green, the rain
pouring slowly, hems in on the tang of my
     suffering; this ponderous trek
down a damp thicket of wild
     raspberries. How big the ears
of the perennials leaning over me, guardians
     of my undoing: dream of a sudden
river of blood rushing down
     the slope and then gone, a new sense
of clarity; and from the sodden sky arrives
     the woodpecker, darts
across the edge of the woods, my whole life
     a dream I can never wake up from.
Now openmouthed under the cascade
     of another torso, another rape
I give to myself, is desire not
     the grave I dig
with my desperate hands—so let the rain
     wash over my upturned face, let it rinse
my eyes, my open mouth.