Outside it is drizzling, a kind of dirty
Drizzle, mixed with sleet, and still
It washes the lawn and the capital
But it chokes the sound of the whippoorwill.
Inside, you imagine the streets are flooded,
That the credit union has collapsed at last,
You fall back into a dream. You are struggling out
Of the sea, the light is unsurpassed,
But a wall of ocean, twenty feet tall,
Rises, and you slip down,
Down into the trough, and you wake
And set aside the eiderdown.
Yaacov David Shulman