Читать книгу The Caruso of Colleen Bawn and Other Short Writings - John Eppel - Страница 10

Rain in Winter

I watch you watching the winter rain

of gold-tipped jacaranda leaves.

You wonder: will they clog the drain,

block the conduit pipe again?

Picking leaf-drops from my sleeves.

Your face is turned aslant from mine,

I cannot read your moving lips

but trace the enigmatic line

that demarcates your features fine

with my mind’s fingertips.

You will not, now, return my stare,

(too late, too late, the barbet cries)

flicking leaflets from my hair,

each flick a gesture of despair.

The rain of winter in my eyes.