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The Rain


What is going to happen
Is that it's going to rain

Rain my love
A poem not about sex

But love
The true kind

You talk of things
To myself and others

You think of things
Her long tanned arms

You will realize you love me
But it will be too late

You will cry out for me
I will be long gone

This is not a wish
But what I knew to be so

This is what I knew to be so
Under the pouring sun

This is what I knew to be so
Under the pouring sea

Where they will find us
You and me


Dorothea Lasky

The Paris Review

Spring 2014


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