The first rain swept through the atmosphere
With its scent of water fresh from the clouds,
Of lawns newly mowed, of the red leaf
Bursting into the bud of its bloom:
The earth was a samovar filled
By the kiss of the rain, and love
Was a scent and a sip of tea.
Here I was, ill-prepared dreamer,
Ill-prepared for the flesh of a dream
Falling to my body as my lips fell to you,
New love, first love, my dear,
And I stood in awe, overwhelmed
By the sudden sex, the sudden purity,
The sudden profundity of our love,
Fresh as a bouquet, wounded
As a stolen bloom in a vase.
And what vase, what body could contain
The stolen bloom, the stolen dream
Of our love?
Perhaps if I hold you close enough,
Long enough, dear, our bodies
Will fuse or weld together like steel
Or carbon, like love united our
Pliable hearts with a single glance–
Or was it a kiss? I don’t remember–
And into that union we can place
Our cosmic intensity: your shifting,
Maternal hips, my anchored, seminal aspirations.
Let us delight in this scent, and drink the tea
Of our kiss as long as it lingers
On our slippery tongues and warms,
Like semen, our insides;
For when the first cloud passes
The first scent is lost in a torrent of rain,
But the freshness remains, embedded
In the soil and the new leaves
Like a seed of hope tossed
Into the tired dreams of the human soul.
Written on Monday, April 28th, 2003