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By Kenneth Rexroth Submitted by Just Some Girl Date: 2001 Nov 23 Comment on this Work [[2001.11.23.17.22.20572]] |
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All night rain falls through fog. I lie awake, restless on a twisted pillow. Fog horns cry over the desolate water. How long ago was it, That night with the pear blossoms Quivering in the pulsating moonlight? I am startled from sleep By the acrid fleshy odor of pear blossoms. Somewhere in the world, I suppose, You are still living, a middle-aged matron, With children on the verge of youth. |