Rain against the roof sounds like a slow tire
over gravel, as if a friend has come.
The train rumbles through the dark, and my body, tuned
to hear you cry before you cry, stirs.
The lamp floats in the window, the only window lit
at this late hour on the empty street.
Your hands unfurl as you fall asleep.
Small Clock of Needs, Law that I Abide,
the leaves gloss and shine. Like this we rock
and sink into the long night of our rocking.
The Foundling Wheel
Four Way Books
Copyright © 2012 by Blas Falconer
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission