Robert Creely
The Rain
by Robert Greeley
All night the sound had come back again,
and again falls this quite, persistent rain.
What am I to myself that must be remembered,
insisted upon so often?
Is it that never the ease, even the hardness,
of rain falling will have for me
something other than this, something not so insistent--
am I to be locked in this
final uneasiness.
Love, if you love me, lie next to me.
Be for me, like rain,
the getting out
of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi- lust of intentional indifference.
Be wet with a decent happiness.
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