Keats in the Rain
by Dorianne Laux
Uncertainty. Doubt. Mystery.
Suspended there not needing
to know. Not scumbling after.
Undefined, unsheltered.
The rain splashing down,
not calling it anything.
Not asking why now
and not yesterday.
Tomorrow ‘s a bird
hidden in its nest.
Buried there. Not here
where you’re standing,
face lifted to the rain.
Whatever silver it is.
Whatever life it gives
or takes. In the boots
it ruins. Its needles
on your shoulders.
Watching it slide
down the gutters, sloop
through the grate,
beyond how it started
or when it will stop,
if it’s good or not.
Standing in your spot
on the sidewalk. Hands
held, palms up. Your body
a windy road.
- Read “When I Can’t Sleep” by Dorianne Laux.
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{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
John would have nodded and said Oh yes! to this poem. . . .
Gee whizzz! A poem with and about displacements,
eclipses, memory, movement & mutabilities.
Great words, scumbling and sloop!