And I in My Bed Again

Last night
                   tossed in
my bed
                  the sound of the rain turned me
               a leaf
in a dried gully
                        from side to
          the sound of the rain took me
apart,      opened to             what is it?
breath caught in memory of
a deep sweetness
                             that sound
delicate,             the wetness running
through my body
                           It might be nighttime
                           in a forest hut,
the rain constant
                          in little rivulets
                       at times uncertain—

safe in each other's arms,
                                       the rain sheltering
us       a depth opening
bottomless to a terrible sweetness,
                                             the small rain
shaking us in our bed
                                         (the terror)
                        End of a season,
                        wind from the west

From To Hold in My Hand: Selected Poems, 1955-1983 (Sheep Meadow Press, 1983). Copyright © 1983 by Hilda Morley.