waves,
night falls,
blackness and
shadows,
the sea breathes
opals and anemone,
unfathoms the ghosts
of november's sweet slumber.

1582

Where Roses would not dare to go,
What Heart would risk the way—
And so I send my Crimson Scouts
To sound the Enemy—

there are hours before bed
i think i'll turn in now instead
i think i'll burn instead

the rain is coming

it is hot     & wet
& ten o’clock
when you turn up
in a black
cab
a red
hibiscus
in your hair

it is hot     & wet
& ten o’clock
when we talk
on the roof
in a high
bombardment
of positive ions
it is hot     & wet

& ten o’clock
when the last
hopeful swoop
of a  fruit bat
finds a limb & is still
so some
thing will
happen    it will

the rain is coming