Rain, so much of it, and the winter just hinting
at itself, saying so much more is coming—you can't imagine
how I'll storm and turn. The wind, the wind, and all the trees are thrumming.
We tangle and there's music and I don't think
you see it yet, the caged thing I am holding by the teeth, my fingers
hooked behind the great white curves of hunger. I am waiting.
It's inside me. I hold the storm out with one hand, the hunger in with
the other, and you with both eyes. Mine on yours. I hold you there.
I hold me there. I hold on.
You sigh against my neck. Rain simmers on the roof, the dog sleeps and twitches,
your throat pulses once, twice. I cannot tell you anything. I cannot warn you
except like this. You think you are so safe. The house is watertight, the eaves,
oh the eaves, they ache with dripping.
