The rain does not expect the brain
To patter—therefore it does not deign
To spatter on the ruin.
The life of rain—of
You no you--
Are we? We know?
A knife, a thus
A drawer shut--
The comet never moved, but space
It shuddered, shook its cosmic lace--
Because it doesn’t know—its snow--
An icy, gaseous, sweet
Sweet madness dancing on the sand--
The comet lozenge on the sea
Glows its softness, renders me--
Key oh key--